


More Than That

by PenguinofProse



Series: Bellarke in a Bunker (and beyond) [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-02-22 15:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 66,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22685194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: Sequel to Bellarke in a Bunker. Praimfaiya is over, and Spacekru return to find Clarke and Bellamy happy with their family on Earth. How will they face the challenges of opening the bunker and meeting the Eligius prisoners together?
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Echo/Raven Reyes, Emori/John Murphy (The 100), Eric Jackson/Nathan Miller, Monty Green/Harper McIntyre
Series: Bellarke in a Bunker (and beyond) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1631869
Comments: 133
Kudos: 278





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the sequel to Bellarke in a Bunker, set about three years after the epilogue, so five years total since the death wave.

Murphy is still Murphy three years later.

At least, he thinks he is. He wonders, sometimes, in the moments when he volunteers to wash the dishes after their evening algae or when he leaves Emori a cheerful note in her toolbox if, perhaps, he might have accidentally reinvented himself as John. But maybe that's no bad thing. And he's alright, really, this new John. He's still fundamentally extremely selfish, still out for his own best interests. He's just realised that, sometimes, his best interests are served by the people he loves being happy, too.

So it is that, as they make their final preparations to leave the Ring and board the rocket he is, of course, very sarcastic – because that is his thing – but he knows and his friends know that his tasteless humour is the sticky stuff that binds them all together.

"The pilot looks nervous. That's reassuring." He tells Emori as she suits up and prepares to guide them back to the ground. He's aware he's being rather blunt, but tact is not really his thing and, besides which, he's not altogether happy at the idea of his absolutely badass girlfriend looking rather wobbly.

"I wonder why that might be."

"Nothing to worry about." He shrugs for effect. "If it goes wrong, we'll be dead before we have chance to notice."

"Cheers, Murphy." Raven shoves him affectionately with her shoulder. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"You're welcome. Reassuring that we're going back a week early, too. I'm sure that's totally safe."

"It is, I told you, I checked a thousand times. The radiation levels are fine. And don't worry about flying, Emori. You'll do great. You've been practising for years." Raven hugs her friend and then heads to do some last minute flight checks, leaving a silence between them that, once upon a time, he thinks he would not have known how to fill.

"She's right." He tells Emori quietly. "I know faith isn't my strong suit, but I have faith in you."

…...

Of course, they make it to the ground in one piece – has he mentioned, recently, that his girlfriend is a little bit incredible? - and Raven makes them sit there for a good fifteen minutes while she checks all sorts of things that he, for one, finds completely uninteresting. They're here now, and it's not like they can just hop back into space again if she doesn't like the radiation numbers. He's pretty convinced they should just get on with opening the door and living their lives. Echo obviously agrees with him, and even Harper and Emori are looking distinctly shifty.

"Are we done, Reyes?" He asks in a pause between miscellaneous electronic bleeping noises. "Can we open the door already?"

"Shut up, Murphy. One last check." She returns her attention to the screen in front of her and he finds himself rather peeved. After all, he doesn't really know how to open the door, so he's currently essentially a hostage of her obsessive caution.

"You're wasting your time. If anything's wrong we're dead anyway." He tells her cheerfully, but Emori shushes him affectionately so he resolves to make his complaints under his breath from now on.

He's still grumbling quietly a couple of minutes later when, with all the pretentiousness of Jaha at Unity Day, she announces that the doors may, in fact, be opened.

"Anyone got anything better than we're back, bitches?" Monty asks to laughter all round as Emori gets the door open and they begin piling out into the sunshine.

His laughter dies in his throat the moment he sees them, of course. It should come as no surprise, after the routine of annual flares and given Emori's utter faith, but all the same his jaw hits the floor at the sight of Clarke and Bellamy. Or, perhaps, his jaw hits the floor at the sight of the two children with Clarke and Bellamy. He freezes in place, one foot on the ground, one still on the steps, at the sight of the four figures standing just metres away with broad smiles crowning their faces.

"What's the hold up?" Echo grumbles behind him, but he's not entirely capable of explaining it to her. Instead he finds himself, of all things, running towards Bellamy as if they are some kind of long lost brothers.

Maybe, in a funny kind of way, they are.

He throws his arms around him in a rather overenthusiastic way that he quickly begins to find a bit embarrassing, so he claps him on the back a couple of times and then pulls away. By now, of course, he is no longer congesting the door to the rocket so Raven and Clarke are hugging and, it has to be said, crying really quite a lot, and Harper and Monty are next in the queue to wrap Bellamy in a hug, and Emori and Echo are milling around grinning openly, and there is a lot of laughter and a lot of weeping and, all in all, a lot of emotion which he's not sure the old Murphy would have been entirely comfortable with.

It takes him longer than it probably should to remember the children.

The older one, the girl, perhaps just approaching her teens, has a firm hold on the toddler's hand and the two of them appear perfectly content to just take in the scene with broad grins stretching their cheeks. Neither of them, he notes, seems in the least confused or surprised by recent events. Bellamy has finally managed to extract himself from Monty's embrace so John decides to take advantage of the opportunity to ask what the hell is going on here.

"You going to introduce us?" He asks with a deliberate air. Clarke turns at his question, too, and now everyone seems to be standing around staring a the two dark-haired children. He raises his brows enquiringly and waits for his friends to introduce these new additions.

He waits in vain. Clarke is half way to opening her mouth when the girl begins to speak.

"I'm Madi." She says, as if that explains anything, before indicating the young boy. "This is Gus. You're Murphy, of course, and that's Emori. Echo. Raven. Monty and Harper. And obviously these two are Clarke and Bellamy, but I hope you remember that."

"She takes after her mother. Likes to take charge." Bellamy comments with a chuckle, and he finds himself reaching the rather obvious conclusion he should have arrived at the moment he saw them through the open door.

"A good shot like her father, though." Clarke adds cheerfully, and he finds himself a little taken aback at meeting a Clarke Griffin who teases easily.

"How -?" Monty asks, expressing everything that they are all thinking but are not quite capable of saying. After all, the girl seems too old for the maths to work out, but in her mannerisms and the light in her eyes she is so obviously their daughter that he cannot quite make head nor tail of it. Another giveaway, he thinks, is the way that since all the hugging stopped she has gravitated straight back to stand in the middle of Clarke and Bellamy, looking rather as if she has grown up fitting into the perfect space between their shoulders.

"Meet our family." Bellamy says, as if it is the most natural thing in the world, while his friends visibly struggle to get their heads around this concept. "Madi's eleven. She likes shooting things, but also poultry husbandry and spear fishing. We met her when we moved here just after the death wave."

"Gus is three." Clarke tells them with evident pride. "Short for Augustus, of course." She rolls her eyes in Bellamy's general direction. "He likes stories and digging in the mud. We ended up with him in a more... conventional way." She blushes at that even as Bellamy sniggers, lips pursed in a vain attempt to repress the sound. John cannot help but meet his eye and wink, at which he starts to snort. And then Harper is giggling, and Monty starts chuckling openly, and before they know it all of them are laughing out loud while Clarke wraps an arm around her daughter's shoulder and attempts to look stern.

"I knew it." Emori says when she has recovered her composure enough to speak coherently. "I knew you'd finally get it together one day."

"I called it first." Harper argues with spirit.

"You're wrong." Monty informs her mildly, hand wrapped around hers. "I have you all beaten."

"We should have kept a book." Raven suggests, and he finds himself nodding in agreement.

"What can I say?" Bellamy drops a kiss on Clarke's cheek without missing a beat. "She was worth waiting for."

…...

Murphy has his suspicions that this whole helping Bellamy fish thing might be rather a ruse. He is clearly contributing less than nothing to the task of catching dinner, and Bellamy is evidently competent enough to feed them all single-handed, and he distinctly remembers Madi being fond of this activity. He is forced to conclude, therefore, that he was invited out here in the interests of some kind of sickeningly sentimental post-reunion conversation.

That doesn't seem to have happened so far, though. This five-years-later Bellamy seems rather quieter, calmer, more content in his own company than the brash young man he first landed with. He perches on a rock, adding fish after fish to a fast-growing pile, and John is left to gaze at him with undisguised curiosity.

"You going to tell me when you got into meditative spear-fishing?" He almost explodes when they have been silent for the best part of an hour.

"You going to tell me when you got out of being a pain in the arse?" He counters mildly, eyes fixed on the water.

"What?" He wasn't expecting that.

"It's been almost four hours since you landed and you still haven't openly insulted anyone. You haven't made a single crude comment about Clarke and me. And when I asked you to come fish you didn't even argue. What happened up there?"

He pauses for a while, because he's not really sure how to explain.

"I have a family now." He opts for in the end. "I'm part of something bigger than just saving my own skin. And then there's Emori. I know it sounds stupid but – I think probably I'd do anything for her."

"Yeah." He concurs quietly, and spears another fish as if it is as natural to him, now, as breathing. "I think that happened to me, too. The whole family thing."

"It's not exactly news that you'd do anything for Clarke though." He offers and his friend nods in agreement. "Your boy, Gus – he looks just like you. At least you know she's not been shagging anyone else." He teases, happily retreating from the subject of relationships back to his usual theme of inappropriate humour.

"Please. She wouldn't want to." Bellamy responds easily, with something of his cocky smirk of almost six years earlier.

"Just as well, it's not like she had a lot of options."

He gets a fish thrown at his head for that.

…...

Dinner that night is a cheerful – albeit rather fish-based – affair. They build a fire and huddle round it in the fresh spring evening, and roast their food over the flames, and eat until they are satisfied, relishing their first non-algae meal in what feels like half a lifetime. When the meal is over they linger happily around the fire, settled comfortably amongst those they love. John slings his arm easily around Emori's waist, and she draws affectionate circles on his thigh, while Raven and Echo share a blanket and try to pretend that they are sitting no closer than strictly necessary, resolutely avoiding each other's eyes. Monty and Harper sit holding hands in their quiet way and seem rather enthralled by Gus, who is toddling around burbling merrily while his obviously doting sister trails in his wake. And then, of course, there are Bellamy and Clarke, seemingly oblivious to the company as they sit on a blanket, her back nestled into his chest, her fingers entwined with his where his hands rest on her waist. He's about to make some sarcastic comment to Emori about how they seem to be losing in this contest to see who can be the most demonstrative couple, but then Bellamy starts brushing aside Clarke's hair and kissing the back of her neck a little too enthusiastically and Raven makes her opinions known.

"Guys, please. It's great that you're alive and all, but cut it out."

"They're just happy together, Raven." Echo snaps.

"Well, I think it's unnecessary."

"Of course you do."

"Raven, Echo, it's fine." Clarke shuffles out from her seat between Bellamy's legs and goes to retrieve Gus from Harper's side instead. "I'm sorry, we didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"It's been a while since we've had an audience." Bellamy adds apologetically.

"Not true." Madi corrects him immediately. "I've been here for years. But I guess I was rooting for you to get together right from the beginning."

"Moving on, Madi." Clarke suggests with a warning tone.

"I want to hear this story." John finds himself jumping into the conversation.

"You do not." Clarke informs him firmly.

"Actually I think I do."

"Madi thought we were some married couple." Bellamy starts telling them, and Clarke shoots him a fierce glare. "Before we were even together. I'm not sure why, but Clarke's always found that a bit embarrassing."

"You basically were a married couple even then." Their daughter pipes up cheerfully and he finds himself warming to this sparky child. "And you were already way too into kissing. It was an easy mistake to make."

"It's always been an easy mistake to make." Emori says what they're all thinking.

"It seems to have turned out for the best in the end." Monty suggests, ever the peacemaker.

"I'd agree with that." Clarke confirms and, seemingly abandoning her resolution to placate Raven, she scoops her son up into her arms and settles back into Bellamy's embrace.


	2. Chapter two

Echo knows she shouldn't have done it. She should have realised how much more difficult it would be, sharing a house with Raven, surrounded by all these sickeningly happy couples sharing their homes. For goodness' sake, there's even one happy _family_ sharing a home. But when Monty and Harper chose a sweet blue-painted bungalow, and Emori took John by the hand and dragged him in the direction of a dilapidated former public building of some sort, and Raven turned to her with a slightly shifty look in her eyes and asked if she fancied joining her in the house next door to Clarke and Bellamy, well, she wasn't going to say no, now, was she? She hasn't the strength to say no to anything Raven could possibly ask her, let alone the offer of some parody of domestic bliss.

So it is that, on her first night back on the ground, she finds herself staring at the ceiling and completely failing to sleep while the most formidable and breathtaking and demoralisingly cold-hearted _snob_ she has ever had the misfortune to meet is, no doubt, blissfully oblivious and comfortably asleep in the room next door.

She's not quite sure how she got herself into this position, really. She still finds Raven absolutely infuriating, thank you very much. She never thought she would meet anyone more impossibly private with their emotions than she is herself. And she never thought she would meet anyone more stubborn, more brave, more inured to pain. And somewhere along the line, a sort of grudging respect happened. And then somehow or other friendship grew up.

But then, of course, she started noticing she was beautiful.

That's where it all unravelled, really. And then all it took was one hint too many about how happy their friends were, and did it make her want to try being happy with someone, and, well, here they are, sitting inappropriately close under a blanket then sharing a house infuriatingly _platonically_ and very awkwardly and never, ever, under any circumstances, mentioning anything even vaguely resembling an emotion.

And yet, somehow, she can't bring herself to regret any of it.

…...

Clarke has still not perfected the art of bedtime. She tells herself that she's doing fine, really, and that she mustn't compare herself to Bellamy with all his experience of raising Octavia, but it sounds a little hollow in her mind all the same. It doesn't help, she thinks sourly, that even Madi is better at getting Gus to settle for the night, and she's an eleven-year-old child, for goodness' sake. Tonight, of course, he's particularly excitable, having spent the evening meeting new people and enjoying the impromptu party, and so she finds herself here, a good couple of hours after his usual bedtime, watching him toddle rapidly around the room loudly demanding everything from a snack to a story.

She's terrible at both snacks and stories. They both fall soundly within Bellamy's area of expertise, along with shooting lessons and reading help and convincing surly young boys to allow themselves to be dressed in clean clothes. Come to think of it, she's growing ever more convinced that she has no area of expertise at all in the matter of childrearing. She doesn't want to give up and fetch Bellamy, because he's currently enjoying some quality time reading with Madi, but it seems like it might be unavoidable. She's about to admit defeat when she hears light footsteps outside the door.

"Clarke?" Madi sounds a little surprised. "You're still here?"

"Of course I'm still here." She snaps, uncharacteristically short with the girl. "He won't go to sleep. Keeps asking for snacks and stories, as if I'm any good at snacks and stories. As if I'm any good at any of this, any good at parenting of any kind." She throws her hands up in despair. "I'm going to fetch your father. Can you keep an eye on Gus for a moment?"

"Stay." She implores, hands reaching out, and Clarke finds herself halting at the look in the girl's eyes.

"You think that's a good idea?"

"Yes. I think it's the best idea." Her daughter frowns a little and then continues thoughtfully. "I think you're really good at parenting, you know? You're right, you're not _very_ good at snacks and stories. But you taught me that mothers don't have to be good at snacks and stories. They can be good at plans and decisions. And fathers can be good at snacks and stories. And that's OK too."

She's definitely only crying because she's so damn tired and frustrated, she tells herself as the tears spring to her eyes. She's definitely not feeling at all overwhelmed by that rather exceptional vote of confidence. All the same, she wraps Madi in a firm hug and stands there for a long moment feeling at least a little moved by her daughter's words.

"For what it's worth, Bellamy's pretty great at plans and decisions, too." She says after a while.

"And you can make soup. And the story about when you woke up in the bunker and Bellamy was there is pretty good. Even if it is a bit cheesy." She wrinkles her nose at the thought of her parents falling in love.

"Shall we tell that to Gus now, then?" She suggests.

"You tell it. Let me get my pyjamas on first, though. I want to listen."

Clarke isn't sure whether it is the story that works, or the sight of his big sister in her pyjamas which encourages him to consider this bedtime, but Gus is asleep within minutes of her beginning to narrate a spot of radiation sickness and romance. She trails off into silence, but it seems that Madi is not at all satisfied.

"Go on." The girl insists, sitting cross-legged on her bed. She still shares a room with her brother, despite suggestions that she might want a room of her own now she's all grown up.

"You said it was cheesy." Clarke reminds her affectionately.

"It is. But I still want to listen."

"You already know it. You could probably tell it just as well yourself."

"Once upon a time, two stubborn idiots got locked in a bunker together and fell in love. The end."

They both start giggling at that, and Clarke finds herself sitting on her daughter's bed and pulling her in for a hug. "Go to sleep, Madi. Maybe you can tell that story to our friends tomorrow."

"Don't worry." The girl replies with an impish grin. "I will."

…...

Bellamy is reading a very good book, which he's only read twice before, but all the same he looks up when Clarke walks through the door. Even after all these years he still feels an instinctive need to have his eyes on her the moment she enters the room. He's not sure whether it's because he can't quite drop the habit of worrying about her, or whether it's because he continues to find her pretty stunning, or maybe a bit of both, but either way, he's certainly now lost interest in the words on the page in front of him.

"Kids OK?" He asks cheerfully, swinging his legs off the sofa so she can have a seat.

"Kids OK." She confirms with a smile, as she ignores his gesture and plonks herself in his lap. "Madi's incredible."

"Yes, I think you've mentioned that before. Once or twice." He teases with a grin. "You know it's bad form to have a favourite child."

"I didn't say I had a favourite." She defends herself in between placing warm kisses on his neck. "I'm sure Gus will be incredible too, when he's old enough to speak in full sentences."

"He'll be less cute then." Bellamy points out with a quirk to his lips.

"That is true." She concedes, pulling away to meet his eyes with a frown. "He will be less cute then."

He kisses her absently on the forehead and wonders whether he might be able to read his book around her, somehow, and whether, if he could, it might be the very definition of domestic bliss.

"Perhaps we should have another baby to get round that." She suggests after a while, appearing at least somewhat serious, and he feels his face light up with a smile.

"What happened to children are hard work and we don't need any more of them?" He asks, slightly flummoxed.

"They are hard work. But they're also wonderful." She shrugs. "It's not a good time to think about having another, I suppose. We don't know what might happen when we open that bunker. But... well, what do you think?"

"You're right. It's not the best time to be thinking about it. But I think we should start practising all the same." She giggles as he scoops her up into his arms and carries her into their bedroom, his discarded book lying forgotten on the sofa.

It's funny, he muses later, as they lie in a heap of tangled limbs on their bed and start wondering about sleep, how familiarity has done absolutely nothing to dim the obsession he has with this woman. He still can't get enough of running his fingers through her hair or feeling her lips give way beneath his, any more than he will ever grow bored of her increasingly poorly-hidden heart or her frighteningly fierce approach to every challenge.

As he looks forward to an uncertain future full of _people_ and, knowing their luck, problems, he can only hope that she feels the same way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter three

Raven's pretty sure she will never get used to seeing Echo across the breakfast table.

It's stupid, really, because they've been sharing a breakfast table for five years, ever since that breakfast right back in the beginning where Echo reached out to Harper and Raven first realised that, in fact, beneath her cold exterior this woman was actually capable of kindness. But there's a world of difference, it turns out, between sharing a breakfast table with her entire family and sharing it with this one woman who threatens to turn her life upside down. Not that her life tends to be on an even keel at the best of times, she notes. Really, the last thing she needs is another thing to go wrong. Another person to get too close to, then watch them walk away. Because they always do walk away, in the end. Finn walked away to meet his fate. Wick walked away to find some other woman who could give him what he wanted. Echo will, surely, walk away the moment she realises that they aren't in space any more. The moment she realises that a beautiful, deadly young woman can have her pick of whoever the hell she wants, on the ground.

But, in the mean time, it seems she will lean back in her chair and dust away the crumbs of the leftovers Bellamy sent them home with the night before and start a lighthearted conversation as if they are not living here together like some _couple_. For the thousandth time that morning, she regrets the moment of optimistic weakness that made her think it a good idea for the two of them to take this house together.

"Any plans for your first day back on the ground?"

She shrugs and plays with an apple, twirling it between her fingers.

"I'm amazed you're not already out there ripping apart all that tech Clarke and Bellamy took from Becca's lab and making it your own. It's five years since you've had anything completely new to play with."

"I don't _play_ , Echo. I fix things." She bites out, tone sharper than it needs to be.

Echo sighs loudly at that and stands up, wordlessly taking their dishes to the sink. Raven curses herself and wonders what to say now. Surely there would be nothing wrong with at least allowing herself to enjoy Echo's company, until such time as she does, in fact, realise that she can do better? She sets aside the apple and makes her way across the room.

"Hey." She reaches out tentatively and places a hand on her shoulder, forces herself not to run her fingers along that line where her shirt ends and her skin begins. "I shouldn't snap at you. I guess I'm just worried about coming back to the ground."

"You were really happy in space."

"Yeah. Aside from not knowing whether everyone in the bunker was alive or dead."

Echo offers a weak smile at that and continues work on the dishes.

"So I'm not sure what the plan is for today. Somehow now we're back here I'm presuming Clarke and Bellamy will tell us what we're supposed to be doing, whether we like it or not. But – well – if we get some free time, I was thinking I'd go for a walk in the woods. Just a short one, of course – it's going to suck being back on the ground with this leg – just to explore a bit and enjoy being back. And – I wondered if you wanted to come with me?"

"That sounds like a plan."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It'll be good to see a forest again."

"I mean, we won't see much forest. You know – walking not being my best thing, and all. Sorry."

"Will you stop apologising for that damn leg? I can't think of anyone I'd rather go on a very short walk with."

…...

Harper cannot repress the mixture of broodiness and pure curiosity that she feels on meeting these two children that her friends have acquired in the five years they've been gone. It's not that it's surprising that Bellamy and Clarke might have a child together, of course – she'd have put money on that, if money was a thing that was still of any use to anyone – but it's at least _noteworthy_ that they have two. Gus is frankly adorable, she decided this yesterday, with his babbling enthusiasm and his dark curls and eyes that resemble his father's so strongly, and he makes her rather keen on the idea that she and Monty might nurture a new life themselves, one day. It hasn't happened yet, but they're still young, and she still has hope.

The girl, though – Madi – well, there is a puzzle she cannot quite solve, a question she cannot quite answer. Because she's no cheeky toddler and no babe in arms, situated as she is rather closer to the verge of young adulthood than her age might suggest, and Harper can't entirely make sense of the way that she is so obviously theirs and yet, at the same time, so obviously independent. This child has, she thinks, the potential to be rather _intimidating_ , if ever she so chose.

Well, then. Apparently she really is Clarke and Bellamy's daughter in the truest sense, if she's got _intimidating_ as part of her skill set.

"So they're your parents, but you call them Clarke and Bellamy?" While the girl teaches them how to gut fish she broaches the topic, with a false casual air which clearly does nothing to fool Monty.

"Mostly, yes. But yes, sometimes I call them mother and father." Madi shrugs, waving the fish-gutting knife she is holding in a disconcertingly careless fashion as she does so. "What we call each other never seemed to matter as much as getting on with being a family."

This isn't something Harper can quite get her head around, knowing full well that their stories will never really do justice to everything they have been through on the ground together, so she makes what she hopes sounds like an agreeing noise, reaches for another fish, and waits for this odd child to continue speaking.

"And... I had a _nomon_ before, so that's different I suppose. But my _notu_ died when I was very tiny, so Bellamy's the only father I've ever had." She feels her heart soften at that, and thinks that, perhaps, that's the first clue she needed to start to get the hang of this complicated new addition to their extended family.

"You seem very close with him."

"I'm very close with both of them." She declares fiercely. "And Gus. We're all close with each other." Yes. If there is one thing that has been obvious from the moment they landed, this is it, she thinks.

"That must be lovely." Monty comments warmly, squinting at a trout as if it is beyond his comprehension. That's impressive, Harper thinks, because he really is quite an intelligent man.

"You don't have children." Madi states, slightly too perceptive as her gaze flickers between them.

"No. It's... not happened for us." She returns her gaze to the fish before her. She is certain that Madi can read the whole story in her tone, but it seems there is little to be done about that.

"Yet." Monty says, squeezing her shoulder with fish-gut-stained fingers, and she feels herself falling in love with him all over again.

…...

Bellamy knows that he ought to feel happy, but at this moment, he finds that doing so is a little beyond him.

His friends have been here for scarcely a day – friends whom he loves, for the most part, and whom he has missed beyond belief – and yet he finds himself heartily wishing that they would get back in their rocket, and fly to space, and stay there. For another five years, give or take a week or two. It's just all a bit overwhelming, after so many months with only his family for company. The way they all rush about, making noise, and laughing, and pestering his daughter and even the _ducks_ , he just can't get his head round it. Why can they not keep their curiosity to themselves, just a little? Why have they not even a smidge of respect for the peaceful family life they have built together?

Of course, it's not just that, as a treacherously truthful little voice in the back of his head likes to remind him whenever he can hear himself think over the racket of Raven's pride and Murphy's sarcasm and Emori's joy. He knows what this means, the safe and healthy return of half a dozen people whose blood runs red.

It is time to open the bunker. Time to see his sister, alive or dead. Time, too, for Clarke to see her mother, and them all to see their people, and that peaceful family life to be thoroughly and irrevocably shattered. Time, probably, for the woman he loves to remember how to be the leader he sometimes hates, and for him to remember how to be the hot-headed warm-hearted lieutenant who screws up at every possible opportunity. And then, of course, he's now the father of a pair of children whose blood type places them firmly on the ultimate shortlist for an early death.

He decides it is necessary to catalogue their collection of weapons, not because any such thing could ever be at all necessary, but because he thinks the task sounds sufficiently mind numbing that no one will interrupt him while he sits in the shed holding a notebook and worrying about what the future might hold.

"You planning on telling me why you're here?" Clarke asks from behind him, barely ten minutes into his fictional task, her soft tone rather at odds with her aggressive words.

He doesn't bother dissembling. They gave that up years ago. "Hiding. Also worrying."

"I don't blame you. I'm pleased I found you, it feels like I've barely seen you all day."

"Yeah. I've missed you. It's weird, after all these years, suddenly having to share you." He grins at her, feeling himself relax in her company as he always does.

"Raven definitely didn't actually need me to show her how to connect the generator to that old computer. She just wanted an excuse to ask me how we eventually got together."

"Oh, definitely. What did you tell her?"

"I told her it was all about the ducks. I missed out the month of soul-searching and spontaneous weeping. I thought maybe we'd keep that just between us."

"Yeah... Is it wrong that I don't really want to share all of that time with them? It's just... that was about us, you know? Not for Murphy to make smug jokes about."

"To be fair, he is less smug these days."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah." She agrees softly and takes a seat by his side and he instinctively wraps an arm around her. She leans in and begins drawing circles on his thigh. "Want to tell me why we're sitting in the shed?"

"It's time to open the bunker, isn't it?"

"Yes. I think it is. It'll be OK, Bellamy, whatever we find. I think we've proven by now that we can do anything together. Whatever we happens with your sister or my mother, we'll deal with it."

"Of course." He says, trying and failing to sound confident. "Do you think they'll go for commanders and conclaves again? Providing they're alive, of course."

Clarke being Clarke, she hears the question he is really asking. "The kids will be fine, Bellamy. They've got the most insanely protective father in the world on their side. Besides which, there's no point speculating on what we'll find until we've found it. Whatever we do find, we'll just have to get on with facing it."

"I love you." He tells her, because that seems like a pretty convenient shorthand for how remarkable she is, how much she inspires him, how grateful he is to have her by his side.

"I love you, too. And nothing we find in that bunker will ever change that."

…...

Raven keeps expecting Bellamy to bring up the idea of opening the bunker that currently holds his sister and she can't quite work out why he's being so reticent on the subject. She can't quite work out why he's being so reticent at all, really, now she comes to think of it. He is obviously blissfully happy, what with Clarke and the children and those apparently romance-inspiring ducks they seem to keep as pets, but she doesn't think that she's imagining that he's grown quieter than she remembers, doesn't think she's inventing the way he turns the conversation aside every time anyone mentions anything that could possibly touch on the topic of Octavia.

In the end, she decides it's time to be Raven Reyes and have out with it. She accepts a portion of fish and vegetables and opens her mouth.

"So, when are we going to Polis?"

Bellamy chokes a little and Madi pats him robustly on the back while shooting her a death stare that is, she feels, a little too advanced for an eleven year old. Clearly the offspring of the commander of death has to start practising early.

"We thought we'd aim to open it five years to the day since Praimfaiya. That's the day they'll be expecting to open it, after all." Clarke cracks on in her usual confident way. "We've cleared the rubble that was directly above the door, but the city itself still isn't habitable. So they'll have to make their way here once they've packed up and prepared themselves."

"If they're still alive." Bellamy adds under his breath. It seems, from the carefully blank faces of her friends, that she is supposed to pretend she hasn't heard him, but she's never made tact a priority before and this does not seem to be the moment to start.

"You'll see." She says bracingly. "I thought you were dead, you know. Emori insisted you weren't but I thought she was delusional. Then I saw the flares and knew I was wrong. And so now I'm practising having hope. You should try it."

"Wow." John starts speaking before Clarke can snap at her to leave Bellamy alone, as the expression on her face clearly indicates she wishes to do. "Raven admitting she was wrong. You see, Bellamy? You've got to think that's worth hearing."

"So we're opening the bunker in six days." Monty interrupts smoothly, employing his talent for peacemaking.

"Let's go there the day before, give ourselves time to scout out the city." Echo suggests, ever the spy.

"I don't think there's going to be much danger hidden in a stack of rubble we've visited a hundred times." Clarke doesn't even pretend to hide the scorn in her voice. It's funny, Raven thinks, remembering that Clarke has no reason to like Echo beyond the fact she has lived with them for five years. She missed all that forgiveness and forgetting.

"But if we go the night before, we could camp!" Madi jumps at the idea, and Raven finds herself rather reassured to realise that this child is capable of being straightforwardly childlike after all.

"You hear that, Clarke?" Bellamy asks with a chuckle. "We could camp. I think that's decision made."

Clarke cracks a smile at that, and Raven finds herself wondering at the fact that, it seems, this terrifying young leader can now be swayed by pleading children and _camping_.

"Well then. Five days here for all you _Spacekru_ to remember how to live on the ground, then it seems we're going on a camping trip."


	4. Chapter four

Monty is a fan of peace. This realisation comes to him quite suddenly on the third morning back on the ground. He thought he was a fan of space, as they were preparing to return here and he found himself dreading a repeat of the terrible times they lived through five years ago, but he's beginning to understand that it isn't the _ground_ that's the problem. It's the conflict. And conflict couldn't be further from the domestic bliss that envelopes this valley like a child's favourite blanket.

He didn't know Clarke and Bellamy had it in them, to live a life like this, he thinks. He can scarcely believe that they are the same two people who pulled that lever in Mount Weather. But then, every time he starts to think that, perhaps, the world has ended and they have entered some alternate reality, Bellamy gives that lopsided grin or Clarke gives one of her unnecessary instructions and he knows that his friends haven't gone anywhere, they've just grown up. And they've grown _together_ , too, that much is obviously true, as she wordlessly invites him to cook breakfast with a quirk of her eyebrow and he presses a lingering kiss to her forehead as he makes haste to acquiesce.

He wonders if it would be like that between him and Harper, that open, that affectionate, that demonstrative, if they had two enchanting children too. Their relationship is great – how could it not be, when she is incredible and he is no idiot? - but he knows that she carries with her more sadness than she is willing to admit at the fact that they haven't had any luck in the childbearing department. And it didn't really bother him, and he was essentially happy for it to be just the two of them, until they got here and he saw the way that Madi and Gus just _complete_ Clarke and Bellamy, somehow.

"Any plans for the day, Monty?" Clarke serves him a portion of some kind of grain porridge and he represses the shiver of excitement he still feels at eating anything that isn't algae. After all, it wouldn't do for anyone to realise quite how much their designated algae chef hated the stuff.

"Not sure, really. This looks great, Bellamy, thanks."

"Almost as good as cheese and inexplicable carrot pasta." His friend responds with a grin, which makes no sense to him at all, but has Clarke and Madi giggling like mad.

"Please stop being so sickening, guys." Murphy flops into a seat at the breakfast table as he speaks. "And get on with telling us what we're doing today."

"Shouldn't we wait until everyone's here?" Clarke asks, ever the organiser, as she begins her morning battle with Gus, porridge, and a spoon.

"I think this is it." Emori speaks up from her place by Harper's side. "I think... Raven and Echo are probably going to eat together."

"That does seem to happen." Bellamy notes thoughtfully, and Monty can't decide whether to smirk or wince at the mention of the ill-defined closeness that has come to exist between his two friends over the years.

Of course, Murphy has no qualms at all about drawing attention to the tension between them.

"Yeah. One day they'll stop mooning over each other at breakfast and start screwing."

Madi snorts with laughter even as Clarke reaches out to cover her daughter's ears. "Sounds like these two." The girl contributes with a nod at her parents, and Monty finds himself slightly flummoxed yet again at the thought that this impertinently precocious girl isn't even twelve years old yet.

"Stop it." Clarke instructs her with a smile in her voice. "I do not like this adolescent rebellion phase."

"Yes. You do." Bellamy disagrees cheerfully and receives an elbow to the ribs for his trouble.

"Anyway. Plans for the day?" Emori as usual brings the conversation back to something vaguely resembling sanity.

"We could do with going on a hunting trip and smoking some more meat before we go on this trip." Bellamy suggests with a questioning look at Murphy.

"Sure." He replies easily. "Let's take Echo, too, when she eventually leaves the house."

"I'd like to grab some more seaweed. You coming along, Madi?" Clarke receives an enthusiastic nod in answer to her question.

"We can watch Gus, if you like." Harper volunteers quietly, and he reaches out for her hand under the table.

"That's kind of you, if you don't mind. We won't be out too long, it's Lion King night." Clarke explains less than helpfully.

"Lion King night?" Harper sounds as confused as Monty feels.

"Well, Lion King afternoon, since we gained a toddler." That clarification doesn't make things much clearer, he thinks.

"We're going to need more than that. We can't all read your mind like Bellamy does."

"We watch Lion King together every week." Madi pipes up helpfully. "We have done ever since we watched it together when Bellamy started teaching me how to shoot."

"You know, you should stop trying to explain." Murphy recommends sagely. "You're only making it sound weirder."

…...

Clarke doesn't make a big deal of Bellamy's absence from breakfast on the day they are to leave for Polis. She makes a start on the cooking, and Madi, perceptive as ever, does not make a fuss about this unusual and slightly worrying departure from the script, but her eyes reflect every bit of the concern that Clarke feels. She's not sure quite what can have happened to him in the last couple of hours - he was still asleep when she left their bed that morning, keen to make the most of her last opportunity to sketch her favourite spot by the river in peace. While the porridge is simmering she makes some flimsy excuse about checking she's packed and heads for the house.

"Do you want me to come too?" Madi murmurs to her as she passes, and she feels her chest swell with love for this girl who is just as big-hearted as her father.

She gives the merest shake of her head, and continues towards the threshold.

She's not sure what she's expecting to find on her arrival – perhaps Bellamy weeping, or wailing, or wallowing in his anxiety – but she is certainly not expecting the sight that meets her as she enters the bedroom. He is sitting on the edge of the bed, dry eyes staring vacantly at the worn wallpaper, immaculately dressed but for one key point.

He isn't wearing any socks.

She's not convinced he hears her as she pads softly towards the wardrobe and grabs a pair of socks. If he does sense her presence, he gives no indication of it, but carries on with that empty gaze which is making her so nervous. Slowly, she kneels at his feet. Tenderly, she makes a start at putting on his socks. Silently, she runs her hands over his feet as she pulls them into place.

"Thank you." He says softly as she pulls his trouser leg back into position, and her hand stills, wrapped around his calf.

"No problem. I am more or less a doctor, I've seen worse things than your feet."

He laughs at that, only a little hysterically, and bends forward to bury his face in her hair and wrap his arms firmly around her shoulders.

"Admit it. You've been waiting for this moment for five years."

"Yes." She disentangles herself from him and moves to sit by his side on the bed, instead. "Want to tell me what's going on? Pretty sure you don't have radiation sickness, this time."

"I don't even know what's going on. I was doing so well, and then – I don't know, I got stuck."

"Come on." She stands and takes his hand and pulls him slowly to his feet. "The sooner we get there, the sooner we find out whether she's OK."

"And the sooner we find out whether anyone wants to kill our children."

"Oh, I can't imagine they'd have much luck if they tried. Have you seen us? You and me together, we're unstoppable."

…...

Madi is not stupid. She sees the way Harper looks at her, the disappointment that she is not as sweet as her brother writ large on the young woman's face, and she's not missed the glances Murphy and Monty throw at each other every time she says something a little too bold for her years. She can't help it. She's the daughter of Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin, for goodness' sake. She was never going to be particularly _ordinary_. And she knows her way around their people as well as she knows her way around a knife or a gun or a med kit. As well as she hopes to know her way around a peace treaty, if ever such a thing should be necessary.

But, for all this, she is still a child, and she still wants to be _liked_ , and she still doesn't much fancy spending the day sitting in the back of a rover with a load of people that she has loved since she was six years old, but who seem not to have decided to love her, not quite yet. With a heavy heart, she picks up her overnight bag and walks towards the place where her parents stand next to the rover directing operations.

"I guess I'll get in the back with the others?" She asks, but it's not really a question, and she can't help the way her shoulders slump as she speaks. "And then I can look after Gus."

Her mother and father make eye contact, and hold it for a long moment, and she finds herself thinking for the thousandth time in her young life that, one day, she hopes she might have that kind of connection with someone.

"Ride up front with Bellamy." Clarke suggests with a warm smile. "I think he'd enjoy your company, this morning."

"Yeah, hop in." He gestures to the passenger seat with a smile that would fool almost anyone, she thinks. But she knows him better than that, is sure that there is something afoot here, suspects that it has to do with that mysterious absence from breakfast this morning.

She wraps him in a fierce hug before accepting his invitation. "Can we listen to _Don't Stop Me Now_ the whole way there?"

…...

Bellamy knows what Clarke is up to, but as the day wears on he feels no need to confront her about it. Instead he is simply grateful that he has this wonderful woman in his life who is so adept at caring for him, at knowing what he needs before he knows it himself. Because, of course, Madi's cheerful company and their favourite kitchen music are exactly the things he needs to lift his mood on the way to Polis, to remind him that, no matter what happens, there are still plenty of thoroughly good things in his life.

They arrive at the former city without mishap, and rig up the makeshift tents they have brought, and Murphy of all people volunteers to make supper for a change while he tells stories and his children and lover and friends crowd around and demand their favourites. When he's covered everything from the Trojan horse to Clarke's sacrifice at Praimfaiya and the chill night air is reminding them to seek their beds his daughter pipes up with one last request.

"Tell us what it will be like, when the bunker opens. Tell us how our story ends." He feels Clarke freeze in horror, evidently wondering how he will handle this difficult demand, but he finds himself strangely relaxed about the situation as he sits here, surrounded by the people he loves.

"I can't do that, Madi. You know I don't know the ending yet any more than you do. But I think that, when that bunker opens, you'll have a new grandmother and a new aunt and all the rest of our family. Miller will join us on hunting trips and Jackson will teach you everything you never wanted to know about medicine. And we'll go home to our valley, and everything will be a bit different. But it will be different in a good way, and we'll still be together." It seems that his answer is acceptable, and the girl allows herself a rare moment to be simply a child as she burrows deeper into his embrace.

"Come on. We should go to bed. We've got a big day tomorrow." With that, Clarke ushers them all towards their quarters for the night.

The children are out like lights, both exhausted by the excitement of the day, and he finds himself sitting with Clarke and watching over them. He tucks Gus a little more snugly into his blankets, and she smooths Madi's hair away from her forehead in a gesture she has not made for a good three years at least.

"It's going to be OK." He tells the woman who has been his partner in all things for as long as he can remember, as if it is her that needs convincing, not him.

"Yeah." She agrees softly, and tugs at his shoulders until he curls up next to the children, his head in her lap. "Get some sleep, Bellamy."

He means to stay awake, to help her keep watch over their family, to bear it with her, so she doesn't have to bear it alone. But he's quite tired, really, and her hand is now rubbing soothing circles on his shoulder, and he didn't sleep at all well last night, and before he knows it, dawn is breaking through the slits in their makeshift tent.

He realises that he was woken by a familiar figure pushing aside the flap of the tent, the morning light catching on her blonde hair.

"Morning, princess." He tries to summon something of their usual easy tone, but he feels sick to the pit of his stomach.

"Morning." She greets him with a smile that looks almost as nervous as he feels. "I thought I'd let you sleep in, it seemed better than you being awake and fretting."

"Yeah." He answers quietly, for want of anything more eloquent to say.

"The others are already up and heading for the door. Are you ready to go?"

He wonders absently if he ought to have some breakfast, seeing as he has no idea how long this day might turn out to be, but he's not sure his insides would cope with that right now.

"Let's do this." He gets to his feet and automatically takes the hand that reaches out towards him, acting instinctively as the rising tide of nerves threatens to rob him of his senses.

"I love you." She tells him, and he thinks he says it back, but through the fog of panic he's not altogether sure. As they walk towards the bunker and the rubble blurs to grey around him, his world shrinks to a warm, strong hand in his, and to weak sunlight catching on blond hair, and to a soft voice reminding him _I love you_.

He's not sure how long they wait. It might be minutes, or it might be hours, or it might be days.

But even in his state of panic, he notices the moment it happens. That door has been closed for five years. And now, suddenly, it is open.


	5. Chapter five

Bellamy doesn't recognise Octavia straight away. It takes him several long seconds to realise that this black-cloaked red-painted stranger is actually his little sister, and that, perhaps, her frightening appearance as she emerges from the bunker at the head of her people does not bode well.

But he loves her, and he's missed her, so he runs forward to enfold her in his embrace anyway.

"Big brother?" She stammers slightly into his shoulder, and he's vaguely aware that he seems to be crying her name over and over and over again, but that doesn't seem like something he needs to be self-conscious about, given the circumstances. Besides which, he's too busy holding onto her for dear life and thanking the heavens that she's alive.

He can worry about the war paint later, he decides.

It takes him a while to notice the other voices around them, the other bodies, as his friends from space and his acquaintances from the bunker converge, and reluctantly he extracts himself from his sister's arms. He regrets doing so almost immediately. She seemed a lot more like his sister when he couldn't see her face.

"You survived." She states unnecessarily in a tone of wonder.

"Yeah. We did." He agrees as Clarke steps up into her rightful place by his side and the children make haste to follow. "So did you."

"Yeah. We did." She seems to be having difficulty swallowing that idea, though, and it is fast becoming clear to him that there is more afoot here than a bit of misguided makeup and a poor costume choice.

"Bellamy!" Miller interrupts before he can ask what the hell is going on, rushing forward past Indra and Gaia to pull him in for a hug and slap him on the back with enthusiasm.

"Miller. Wow. Hey." He hates himself just a little for how rarely he has thought of his old friend in the last five years, focused for the most part on forgetting the bunker and living his life, preoccupied with his sister when he allowed himself to think of them at all.

"And Clarke. Hey. You're looking well." His friend pulls her in for a hug in turn, and and Bellamy is struck with the obvious thought that it will be his children who are noticed next.

And somehow, suddenly, he doesn't want that to happen. He can't put his finger on it, but he knows that something is very wrong with these people from beneath the ground. He doesn't want a woman who seems to have forgotten how to smile to be the aunt to his children. And Miller, for all his backslapping, looks gaunt and his face still holds a hint of a frown, as if his cheeks have grown fixed in place there with the passing years. And strangest of all is the absence of Abby and Kane, who should surely have wanted to be in this first wave to step through the door. He might not have a clue what's going on, but it is certainly something rather different from the happy family life they have been living. And he doesn't like it, and he doesn't want it eating up his children's childhoods and spitting out the bones.

But then, of course, it is all too late and Octavia is gaping in disbelief at Madi and stepping forward and taking her chin in her hand and he is struck by the horrifying premonition that this frightening stranger could probably snap his strong daughter's fragile neck in two.

The sigh of relief he lets out when she does not do that, but rather kneels at the girl's feet, is rather too loud to be polite.

"Who's this?" She asks, and he glows with pride when Madi bristles at her rude tone, at the implication that she cannot answer for herself.

"I'm Madi." She informs her, showing no sign at all of quavering in the face of this intimidating stranger. "And you're Octavia. You used to like playing a lily pad game that Bellamy thought was really boring. And you loved a man called Lincoln, and he was a hero."

He sees Octavia wilt a little at that, a peep of his little sister and her fear peeping through.

"She's our daughter." He steps in to explain, feeling the need to disguise the truth before someone gets too honest and exposes them. "We found her, and Clarke made her a nightblood, so we could all survive together. We live in a valley that wasn't damaged by Praimfaiya, about a week's walk from here."

"And the boy?" Octavia asks, brow cocked, and he curses himself. Because he had to rush in there, and try to cover up the truth of Madi's blood, and now he's been caught in his ill-thought-out lie and Gus is still a target, and he really ought to have learnt by now to use his head, even in emotional situations like this.

"Gus. He's my brother." Madi states, chin jutting forward in defiance. "And I'd do anything for him."

He's not crying, he tries to convince himself as he feels his eyes grow damp at his daughter's bravery and loyalty. There's just a lot of dust in the air, these days.

…...

Clarke reaches out to take Bellamy's hand in a silent gesture of support that does not go unnoticed by Octavia. She can tell from the way the younger woman's eyes follow the movement movement, lids narrowed slightly as she processes this new development. It is Miller, however, who decides it is worthy of comment.

"Finally." He says with a grin, and Clarke thinks that it almost disguises the permanent frown lines etched on his face. She wonders whether her mother will look like that, too, and wonders for the thousandth time why she is not here yet. Wonders whether perhaps something awful has happened.

"It's good story." Murphy pipes up, not that anyone asked. "They got together because of ducks."

"Ducks?" That at least rouses an interested and rather incredulous reaction from Octavia.

"He made her a duck coop and then she started kissing him. It was a bit frightening, actually." Madi offers, and Clarke finds herself giggling in spite of the tension of the situation.

Her giggles fade away to nothing when the next half a dozen people to leave the bunker are not her mother, either. She can't bear this any longer. She hardens her resolve, and asks Miller the question.

She knows she ought to ask Octavia, but she can't quite overlook the fierceness in her face.

"Miller? Where's my mother?" She asks quietly, and feels Bellamy's warm hand squeeze her own.

"She'll be down in the infirmary." He tells her, but he won't meet her eye, and she can't help feeling that something is very _off_ about the whole of this supposedly happy occasion.

"Did she not want to come and be part of this?" She asks in confusion.

"Well, I suppose she wasn't sure if you'd be here. And you know how it is, she has a lot to do in medical."

Clarke doesn't know how it is. She doesn't know how it is _at all_. The mother she remembers certainly always had a lot to do in medical, but she was always the first to run towards any chance of seeing her daughter. Did she not try to board a beat-up tin can rocket bound for Earth in the hope of doing so, once upon a time?

"Of course." She answers smoothly, her face a careful mask. "Could you take me to her? I'd like to see her."

"Bring her up here." Octavia orders instead, and Clarke can't quite make sense of that. How is it any different, whether they meet here or there? And if medical is so busy, would it not be quicker for her to go to the infirmary?

"I'll be right back." Miller promises, and disappears into the gaping mouth of the bunker.

…...

Echo is surprised when a young man detaches himself from the next wave of people to emerge from the bunker door and throws his arms around her shoulders. She wasn't expecting any particular joy for herself from this day, was just hoping that her Skaikru friends would have the happy ending they were longing for. So she's not quite sure what to do with this enthusiastic embrace. She wasn't aware that there was anyone still alive on this Earth who cared about her survival until this very unexpected greeting.

"Ivon?" She asks, disbelief sharp in her tone, as she recognises her old colleague from the Queen's guard.

"Echo." He draws back to take in her face and she finds herself feeling distinctly self-conscious. "I can't believe it. I was so sure you were dead. How did you survive being cast out like that?"

"I got lucky." She admits easily. "I hitched a lift to space to ride out the radiation."

"Space?" He asks with distaste, obviously struggling to digest this news. "So, what, you _Skaikru_ now or something?"

"I'm still Azgeda." She tells him, although she's not altogether sure it's the truth. She just knows she wants to see the warmth in his eyes again. She quite likes having someone to miss her, it turns out. "I just lived in space for a bit."

"No one's Azgeda now." He informs her and it sounds like a warning. "You are Wonkru or you are the enemy of Wonkru."

It isn't until Raven speaks, tone even more abrasive than usual, that she remembers to disengage herself from Ivon's arms.

"Well then. I guess we choose Wonkru."

…...

Octavia has done things she is not pleased to have done, of course. No one could lead through the Dark Year entirely _happy_ , nor watch over the fighting pits with a smile on their face. But it isn't until she sees her impossibly loving brother and his impossibly happy relationship and his impossibly perfect children that it occurs to her that, actually, she has _regrets_. That this is not the life she would have chosen for herself, if she could have avoided it. That she doesn't like being a monster. But life is what it is, and she is a monster now, so she will have to make the best of it. Will have to forge ahead, and be Bloodreina, and take Wonkru home.

Black-haired little boys with eyes full of smiles are not destined to be a part of her story, she suspects.

That's a shame, she decides, as she watches Gus watching Bellamy in a blatant display of familial love. It is obvious, of course, that her brother is lying to her at least to some extent about the status of these two children. They are evidently nightbloods, to have survived the radiation, and she can't help but feel that the story about at least one of them being artificially so is a load of rubbish. She is forced to conclude that, somehow, her brother has reached a point where he is willing to lie to her to protect this family that he loves. And, actually, she understands only too well why he would think a pair of nightbloods might need protecting from anyone who might feel threatened by them, from someone who might want them out of the way in order to cling on to power.

Someone, perhaps, like her.

…...

Raven knows what her priorities should be. As an engineer, she should be thinking about the logistics of getting these people out of this bunker and setting up the infrastructure to get them settled in the valley. As a friend, she should be supporting Clarke while she takes in the dazed look in her mother's eyes and gaunt shadows of her cheeks. And as a human, she should be hugging Miller and celebrating their safe reunion.

But, of course, she is doing none of those things. She can't stop staring at that man who _hugged_ Echo, went straight up to her and wrapped her in his arms, as if he had a right to do so, as if he never stood by and watched her be cast out five years earlier. As if he cared about her in the slightest.

None of these people care about Echo as much as she does. Of this, she is sure. After all, they are family, now, are they not, after their five years in the sky together?

Any suggestion that she feels hostile towards this stranger for any reason other than her conviction that Echo deserves better is nonsense, of course. She has always known that her housemate would be the subject of attention, now the bunker is open, from people who are neither broken nor skilled at losing those they care about. She just thinks that Echo deserves the very best, that's all.

"I'm Raven." She introduces herself to the man who has been chatting to Echo without pause since that hug and sticks out a hand towards him.

He does not choose to take it. "Ivon." He tells her with a cold nod.

"We live together." She tells him, abandoning subtlety and deciding that she won't object if he wants to read more into that statement than is the truth.

"You do?"

"Yes." Echo confirms with a frown at her. "We're good friends, more like family really. We lived in the sky together during Praimfaiya."

"Pleased to meet you." Ivon says in response to that news, sticking a hand out stiffly and not sounding at all pleased to meet her.

She shakes his hand, and he makes some excuse about needed to check in with his team, and walks away.

"What's wrong with you?" Echo hisses, the moment he is out of earshot.

"I don't know what you mean."

"What were you doing there, trying to scare him off or something? It certainly worked."

"Oh, he'll be back. Did you see the way he was looking at you?"

"I don't know what you mean." There seems to be a lot of that going round, Raven thinks. In fact, she muses, this tension between them has always involved quite a lot of _I don't know what you mean_.

"Well, it seems I was right. As usual." She snipes, thinking back to an impossible conversation they had about a year ago, both rather the worse for wear for moonshine, and have carefully avoided mentioning ever since.

"About what?" Echo asks reluctantly, clearly sensing that they are heading into uncomfortable territory.

"That you only noticed me out of _convenience_. That now there's more than six people in your world you won't be needing me any more."

She doesn't give Echo a chance to confirm her rejection. She simply limps rapidly away in the direction of Abby, taking her tears with her.

…...

Bellamy finds that the day is half gone before he has blinked. There are so many people to speak to, and there is so much worrying about the children and Clarke to be done, that time is hastening on quicker than he realises. He has greeted what feels like hundreds of people but is no closer to finding out why Abby's smile looks so unnatural, nor why Octavia does not smile at all.

He decides that Kane is his most likely source of answers, and leaves Clarke with the children while he takes the older man aside.

"How have you been?" He asks, for want of a better way of starting the conversation.

Kane is silent for quite some time, and Bellamy wonders if he will refuse to answer.

"I think I have been luckier than most." He says at last. "But that's not saying much."

"What happened down there?"

"Most of it is not my story to tell. I know that you're worried about your sister, and about Abby on Clarke's account. And I suppose you're worrying about your children now too."

He nods in acknowledgement, frustrating though it is that Kane's words are not really an answer.

"Fatherhood suits you."

"I think _happiness_ suits me."

"Yes, we've had precious little of that." He sucks in his breath and spreads his hands in a defeated gesture. "I can't tell you. It's not my place to tell you. All I can say is that I think things will be better, now we're on the ground. I _hope_ things will be better. And I for one won't let anything happen to your children."

" _Might_ something happen to the children? Do you think anyone would want to hurt them?" He asks the question that has been preying on his mind so much in recent days, and even more so since he saw the looks in his sister's eyes this morning.

"I don't know." Kane spreads his hands in that unhelpful shrug again. For a wise man, he seems to be determined to remain ignorant, these days, Bellamy thinks. "Octavia has become used to being... unchallenged."

He calls a halt to that conversation before it grows any more disturbing, and fixes a brittle smile on his face for the remainder of the afternoon. Evening draws near, and it is decided that they will eat together around campfires on the ground, before Wonkru return to the bunker to sleep and those who camped last night to their tents. Tomorrow, they are to start planning for the move out of here.

"Will you join me at my fire? Clarke? Bellamy?" Octavia asks, and he finds himself rather flummoxed by the idea of needing to be invited or _summoned_ to share a meal with his own sister.

"Of course." Clarke answers for them while he collects his thoughts.

"Bring the children." Octavia instructs them in a tone he can't quite read. "Gus is such a lovely child. I'd like to get to know him better."

…...

Echo is furious with Raven. She doesn't understand what gives this woman the right to trample on her heart again and again and again. It doesn't seem at all fair, really, that Raven gets to keep pushing her away and insisting that she doesn't really care, insinuating that she's interested in whatever Ivon has to offer. All she's ever done is try to show Raven that she cares. It drives her mad when she runs away like that, presuming her rejection before she's even had chance to respond. And, sure, she did only notice her because they spent five years trapped in space together. But that doesn't make the _noticing_ any less real. She thanks the heavens every day for the lucky coincidence that gave her such a long opportunity to become part of Raven's life.

Well, she thanks them most days. Today, she's a bit stuck on _furious_.

One thing she definitely feels every day, though, is regret for that stupid conversation they had last year, where she had too much moonshine and thought it was a good idea to tell Raven how she felt about her, and Raven had too much moonshine and thought it was a good idea to make out with her a little and then panic and run and pretend the following morning that nothing happened. She wishes with everything that is in her that she could have left well enough alone, and continued in an easy friendship rather than all these stupid arguments. But without the stupid arguments, she supposes, there would probably also be rather less of the make-up-hugging and the sitting too close and the casual touching of hands in the kitchen. And she lives for those things, for all that she's supposed to be so strong.

She's angry with Raven for making today about her. Or about them, or the _lack_ of them. This is supposed to be a day for celebrating reunions, for worrying about Abby's shivers and Octavia's stillness. It is not supposed to be a day for arguing over non-issues.

She knows that seeking Ivon out that evening is the wrong thing to do. And she knows that laughing at his jokes as they sit around the campfire is the wrong thing to do, and that kissing him back when he presses his lips to hers is certainly far from right. And she definitely knows, better than she knows her own name, that following him back to his bunk, and sleeping with him, and failing to forget Raven all the while is absolutely and totally _the wrong thing to do_.

But she does it all the same.


	6. Chapter six

It is still very early when Echo wakes in Ivon's bunk the following morning, distinctly uncomfortable for reasons that extend far beyond the physical awkwardness of being crammed into this tiny space with a person she suddenly realises is a near stranger. There is also the unpleasant understanding that there are _other people_ in this dorm who must know exactly what they did last night, and the sickening realisation that Raven must have worked out exactly where she has spent the night.

At that, she bolts from the bed and starts throwing clothes on, using all the stealth of her spy training to avoid waking Ivon and having to explain her sudden flight. She knows running back to the tent she should have shared with Raven will achieve little. She knows that the damage is already done. But all the same, she feels a burning need to get out of here.

She doesn't remember much of her journey to Ivon's dorm the previous night. Perhaps she was too drunk, she wonders, or perhaps it was the darkness, of perhaps she was just distracted by the unfamiliar sensation of feeling _wanted_. But she's noticing now, as she pads on light feet through the corridors, that it's a pretty damn miserable place. The lights are low, as are the ceilings, and everything seems to be this same dispiriting shade of industrial grey that makes her suddenly grateful for the surprisingly optimistic life they lived in space.

But then, all of a sudden, she finds the corridors opening out into an area that is decidedly _not_ grey. The enormous vaulted entrance hall before her is illuminated by the soft glow of the rising sun spilling through the open door, and its walls are awash with layer upon layer of dark stains.

She knows what those stains are straight away, of course. Anyone would, if they had lived her life, had grown up as an Azgeda warrior. But all the same, she can't quite _believe_ it. She wastes precious seconds in inspecting the walls and the floor and the stairs and even the handrails more closely. Most of the stains are old, and she thinks that is a relief, but she isn't entirely sure. It doesn't seem much better, all things considered, if whatever it is that has gone so wrong here went wrong long ago rather than only yesterday.

But then, against the far wall, she sees a rather fresher patch, gleaming, glistening, in the weak morning light. Gently, fearfully, she reaches out to brush its dampness with her fingers, observes with a certain detachment the droplets that trickle along a crack in the plaster.

She needs to get out of here. She needs to hide her face in Raven's chest and never, ever, leave. She needs to tell Clarke and Bellamy that there is something wrong, that they have to fix it and make it all go away.

She needs to leave this place where the walls are dripping with blood.

…...

Clarke is not surprised to find Bellamy already awake when she resurfaces from sleep. For the most part, over the last five years, she has continued to be the earlier riser of the two of them, even if she no longer goes in for pre-dawn angry gym sessions. But if ever there was a time that Bellamy would be struggling to sleep in, she supposes this would be it. It is painfully obvious that all has not been well in the bunker, that Octavia is hardly one for chasing butterflies any more. She has noticed, too, that her mother is behaving oddly, but she finds that it bothers her less than she might have expected. She has a new family, now, and for all that she still cares about her mother, she is no longer her priority.

No, her priority is her children, and their safety, and Bellamy, and his sanity.

She kisses him good morning, a kiss that lingers longer than their usual morning greetings, and instinctively she draws closer and wraps her arms about him. They sit, a tangle of limbs, and gaze out of the door of the tent at the rising sun which dyes the rubble around them with a rusty red glow.

"What are you thinking?" She asks without preamble.

"I'm thinking I should talk to her." He says without hesitation. "There's obviously something wrong here, and Kane was less than helpful. But we need to know, before we welcome them into the valley with open arms, if they've all become mass-murderers or something."

She thinks he was trying to say that flippantly, but it sounds all too plausible, based on the look in Miller's eyes.

"I'm just worried, Bellamy, that if you start asking questions, and there is something dangerous going on here – well, you'd be putting yourself in danger."

"But if I don't ask the questions, am I leaving the kids in danger? You saw how she _summoned_ Gus last night."

"Yes. Yes, that was frightening."

"I think -" He breaks off abruptly at the sight of Echo sprinting towards them, a panicked look on her face which Clarke finds doesn't suit her at all well. She's never seen this intimidating woman look anything less than in control of herself.

"What does she want?" She murmurs to Bellamy, because it is at least a little surprising that the only member of Spacekru with whom they have no real reason to be on particularly good terms should be running straight for their tent.

"This can't be good." It seems that is the only response she is to get.

"Clarke. Bellamy. Thank goodness you're awake." Echo pants as soon as she is within earshot.

"What on Earth is wrong?" Clarke asks, ever to the point.

"There's blood." Echo says, fear sharp in her eyes, as if that is a useful answer.

"Blood?" Bellamy repeats.

"Blood. So much blood. There's this – atrium? A big circle. Platforms overlooking it. And there's blood everywhere."

"What do you mean? Has someone had an accident?" Clarke rushes to ask, ever the doctor. Perhaps this is why Echo was so keen to fetch her.

"Not an accident, no. I don't mean a bit of blood." Echo clarifies, growing gradually more controlled in her breathing and speech. "I mean an _enormous_ amount of blood. It's a huge room, and there are stains absolutely all over it, _hundreds_ of deaths worth of blood, and some of them look old and some of them – some of it's fresh."

" _Fresh_?" Bellamy gasps the word she is thinking.

"Fresh. Wet." She stretches out a hand towards them, and for the first time Clarke notices the sticky rust-coloured tips of her fingers. "Recent."

"I'm going to talk to Octavia." Bellamy declares, and jumps to his feet, and Clarke panics at how quickly things seem to be taking this turn for the worse.

"No, Bellamy. You can't."

He turns at the fear in her voice and cups her cheek in his hand. "If I can't talk to her, Clarke, who can? She's my sister. I have to try."

"But what if – what if Echo's right. What if she hurts you?" She can't quite bring herself to ask about the possibility that his sister might have him _killed_.

"It'll be OK, Clarke. Wake the kids and get them ready to go in case we have to leave in a hurry. Wake our friends, too." He is already pulling on a jacket and stepping out into the dawn, and she jumps to her feet to press a kiss of farewell to his lips.

"I love you." She reminds him, because she senses that he might need to be able to remember that, where he's going.

"I love you, too." He tells her, and then he is gone.

She sits down heavily on the blanket that still holds his scent and wonders if, perhaps, that might have been a sensible moment for a bit of _may we meet again._ She breathes, carefully, for a few moments and tries to convince herself to get on with waking the children.

"I'd better go." Echo says, obviously uncomfortable. "I'll wake up John and Emori, if you get Monty and Harper?"

"Sure." She finds that she is pleased to be reminded of her role, reminded to get on with the task at hand.

"And I'll get Raven." Echo says with obvious difficulty, and Clarke thinks back to the sight of her sitting with Ivon at the campfire last night and starts to put together the pieces of that particular puzzle.

"If you're sure."

"I'm sure. If Bellamy can go and face his sister, after all this – well, surely I can face Raven this morning."

She has to admit, it doesn't sound like Echo is all that convinced, but all the same she disappears into the rising sun.

…...

Raven knows that it is stupid to be upset. She always knew what would happen when the bunker opened, she reminds herself. She always knew that some good catch who was brave and strong and _whole_ would catch Echo's eye, and she'd be sitting here, wide awake, tangled in her blankets and wondering about laying the breakfast table alone.

Well, the metaphorical breakfast table. She is in a tent, after all. But the point is that the woman she has lived with – in a mostly platonic way, she tries to tell herself – for the last five years has spent the night with someone else and that is absolutely, totally, and completely _fine_. It is as expected. It is not worth getting upset about.

But she is upset all the same.

She hears footsteps approaching and dashes her hand angrily across her eyes, trying and failing to remove the evidence of her tears.

"Raven?" Echo's voice is soft, and tentative, and warm, all of the things that she loves that this woman can be, but which she hides from the world so well. _Loves?_ That can't be right, she admonishes herself.

"Echo."

"You're awake?"

"Yeah. Didn't sleep much." She informs the threadbare blanket which lies wrinkled in her lap.

"Me neither."

"Well, obviously. How is dear _Ivon_?"

"Terrible. Is that what you want to hear? That it was a huge mistake? Obviously." Echo sounds bitter, she thinks, and she doesn't see what grounds there is for that when _she_ is the one who was left in this tent alone.

"Good." She says, trying to sound smug but succeeding only, she realises, in sounding a bit confused. It isn't particularly satisfying, it turns out, learning that Echo's night was not a success.

"Whatever. We don't have time for this. We need to get ready to leave."

"What?" She finds herself shocked out of her jealousy. Or anger. Or whatever this is.

"We might need to leave in a hurry. Get yourself ready."

"We might? Why?"

"I – I saw something. When I was running back from Ivon's to find you, if you must know. Something awful. Bellamy's gone to check it out, and we're meeting Clarke, and we need to be ready to go." With that, Echo grabs her one pack of belongings and makes to leave the tent again.

"Wait. Please." She's not used to begging Echo for things, and she doesn't much like it. But there's clearly something seriously wrong here, and she can't help but feel that it might be a good idea to take her in her arms and look after her a little. "Won't you tell me what's really going on? What was it that was so bad? Are you – are you OK?"

"I'm fine." She lies through her teeth. "Now get your stuff and let's go."

"Echo. I'm getting my stuff." She makes a show of pulling her pack towards her and shoving a few bits and pieces in it at random. "Now sit down and tell me what's wrong."

"I can't." She says, a panicked look in her eye as she turns towards the door of the tent. "I told Clarke I'd go back and -"

"Bullshit." Intending to turn her back away from the door, Raven reaches out to take her hand.

And recoils, shocked, at the wet stain that smears across her fingers.

"Raven -" Echo sounds almost _broken_ , she thinks, at not at all her usual confident self.

"What is this?" She asks with perfect control, although she already knows the answer rather too well.

"Blood."

"Why? How?"

"There's a – a room. And it's covered. Absolutely covered – in blood. And I don't know how. And -"

At that, the bravest woman she knows breaks down into sobs. And, well, sure, she didn't come home last night. And, yes, Raven's still upset about that – of course she is. But Echo seems so distraught and, really, there is only one good response to this.

She reaches out and pulls her into an embrace.

…...

Bellamy thinks that, perhaps, he has never been this scared before. Or, at least, he has not been this scared for quite some time. Sure, he was nervous when Clarke was in labour, but there were no concerning complications. He thinks that to get even remotely close to his current anxieties he'd have to cast his mind back to that awful day when she disappeared from the bunker to go dig out the rover, leaving only a crummy _note_ behind her. And even then, it was only Clarke's life at stake. That was bad enough, of course, but now he has his children to worry about too and really, this is all fast approaching overwhelming.

If he gets this wrong, he could die. But if he gets this wrong enough, everyone he cares about could die, too. So much is obvious to him, even if he has yet to work out why exactly his sister has been decorating the walls of her home with blood. And blood it certainly is, and Echo was certainly not lying about the quantity. He thinks it is probably more blood than he has ever seen in his life before, and he once took part in a massacre of three hundred.

He knocks firmly on the door of Octavia's quarters and sighs in relief when it is Miller who answers. Miller is his old friend. He is fair, and loyal, and he will not be in danger as long as Miller is by his side.

" _Bellamy_? Why are you here?" He sounds absolutely shocked, and rather hostile. So much for _his old friend_.

"I need to see Octavia. Urgently."

"Bloodreina is not available at the moment." The robot who seems to have replaced Miller responds.

" _Bloodreina_?" He heard the word floating around in whispers yesterday, wondered who this supposed red queen could be. He never imagined it could be what they call his sister, these days.

"Bloodreina." Miller repeats tonelessly. "I will tell her you called. But first, let me take you back to your camp."

"No, thank you." He is not about to be hustled out of here so easily, not about to let them lead him away from the rest of their dirty secrets. "I'm her brother. I'll wait here until she is ready to see me."

"Bloodreina doesn't take orders from you."

"I'm not giving an order to Bloodreina. I'm giving a request to my sister." With that, he sits himself on the concrete next to her door and prepares for a long wait.

He prepares in vain. Barely a handful of minutes have passed when Miller reappears and informs him that he is to be admitted to see his sister, and he takes a deep breath and follows him through the door. This is it, he realises. There is no going back from his decision to walk across this threshold. He is confronting her simply by being here at all, by seeing the bloodstains, by insisting on admittance.

It makes a change – and an unpleasant one at that – to be facing such a momentous moment without Clarke by his side.

"Big brother." Octavia greets him with what he supposes is meant as a smile, but the expression sits heavily on her face.

"Octavia." He greets her as he takes a seat, because whilst she is no longer truly _O_ , he will not be calling his own kin _Bloodreina_ any time soon.

"What's so urgent? I was told that you had to speak to me immediately."

He takes a deep breath, and thinks of Clarke, and of the children. He promised himself he would not dissemble, and he needs to keep his word.

"The atrium. Why is it covered in blood?" Her face shows not so much as a flicker of reaction at his words, and he notes that she was ready for this. She must have known, after all, as soon as he showed up here, that he had seen it on his way.

"Because people bled there."

"Hmm. Yes. Who? Why?"

"People who deserved to be punished. People who threatened our survival."

"So – what – it's a sanction? Law enforcement?"

She blinks once, slowly. "Yes."

"You keep people in line by putting them in there to fight?"

"The Pit is no worse than floating." She says with a shrug that appears to require a little too much effort.

"And the people you send to this Pit – they die, I'm guessing?"

"Someone always survives. Hope is important."

"How many people have died there?"

"Many." For the first time, he thinks he sees a crack in her mask. "Would you like their names?"

"Their names?"

"I remember them. I remember every single one of them." She tells him, and that crack is definitely growing wider, he notes, as her lips begin to tremble.

"What are their crimes?" He presses on.

"Theft. Disobedience. Rebellion. Anything that threatens our survival, threatens Wonkru."

"So you kill people who threaten you?"

"No. I make them kill each other."

He stares her down, his furrowed brows making it quite clear that the one is no better than the other, is no different.

"Yes. I kill people who threaten me." She acknowledges, lips trembling violently now, but he does not allow himself to soften at the sight. He has got the answer he needs. He does want to do something about all this, of course he does, wants to correct her somehow, help her to remember to be human, but the survival of his family has to come first.

"Thank you for your honesty." He tells her neutrally as he stands to depart. "I'll leave you to your morning."

"What? How – why?" She splutters in some distress, before stilling suddenly. He sees the moment she puts it all together, and her eyes go wide in horror. "No – Bell – you can't think that? I never would, Bell, I swear. He's your _son._ And my nephew, my own flesh and blood – how could you think I would?"

"You just told me you kill people who threaten you."

"But – not your _son_." She sounds genuinely devastated by the idea, he notes in a detached sort of a way, and he's not really sure how this development will affect their plans. "He's a nightblood, yes, but the time for conclaves is over. And he's absolutely adorable. And I love him already."

As the tears start to roll down her cheeks, he can almost believe it is the truth. But there is something more urgent to be worried about first, he decides.

"And my daughter? What about Madi?"

Octavia pauses for just a fraction too long.

"The same goes for her, too, of course."


	7. Chapter seven

Octavia is horrified. She wasn't aware that it was an emotion she was still capable of feeling, inured to horror as she has had to be in order to survive the Dark Year and sending people to the Pit, but it turns out that, even now, it can smack her in the stomach with considerable force.

Her brother thinks she is a threat to her own nephew.

How has it come to this? Has she truly lost her way so badly that he seriously believes she would harm the adorable child whose smiling eyes, she has learnt already, can so easily make her day?

Gus is joy incarnate, she suspects, and even Bloodreina won't stand in the way of that.

The girl is a slightly different question, though, she muses. She's almost old enough to be a real contender for leadership, and that's something she simply cannot tolerate. But based on the look of terror Bellamy has worn ever since he realised that his little sister is long gone, she strongly suspects that Madi will be making no dangerous moves in the near future. She is almost certain that her parents will stand in the way of any such attempt. Besides which, she tells herself firmly, any such attempt would fail. She is Bloodreina. She is unshakeable. She is adored.

Then why, oh why, does it hurt so much when her brother looks at her as if he detests her? Why does it hurt that he no longer trusts her? Or when he acts as though they are no longer family?

He has a new family now, and new loyalties, new responsibilities. This much has been made abundantly clear to her. Clarke and Bellamy have stopped breaking and bonding over impossible situations and have instead started to show that Earth and happiness may not be so incompatible. And whilst she knows that it should make her glad, it instead makes her sick to her soul with jealousy.

For the first time in years she allows herself to think of Lincoln. She allows herself to dream of the life they might have lived together, of the smiling-eyed children she might have borne. She finds herself instead in a waking nightmare, where his eyes are cold and he does not forgive what she has done. The recent reality of Bellamy's face as she denied wanting Gus dead, combined with her imagined version of Lincoln's face watching what she has become, is enough to break her.

At last she weeps.

…...

The rush of relief Clarke feels on Bellamy's return is almost enough to knock her off her feet. And then he nearly does, too, with a hug that's desperate enough to send her reeling, tottering backwards a couple of footsteps into the canvas of their tent.

"You're OK." She murmurs into his neck. "Thank goodness you're OK."

He pulls away, just enough to catch her lips and kiss her, long and deep and almost hungrily, and she is more than happy to reciprocate. His mouth is always enough to set her world back to rights.

Their audience, however, seems impatient for him to get on with sharing his news.

"I hate to interrupt, guys." Murphy is, of course, the one to break the moment.

Bellamy manages to release her lips but keeps an arm firmly around her waist, and reaches out towards the children with the other.

"How did it go?" She prompts him softly.

"I'm not sure." He says, quietly, yet somehow more confident than when he left their tent not so long ago. "She's had people kill each other. Hundreds, if I had to guess. She says it's a punishment for anyone who threatens her."

"That doesn't sound good for us." Clarke says what they are all thinking.

"Well, exactly. But she swears that Gus is in no danger. She got quite upset that I thought she'd hurt him."

"That's something." Monty contributes, improbably optimistic as ever.

"You haven't mentioned Madi." Raven points out perceptively.

"No. She said the same was true for her but – I don't think I quite believe her." Clarke can't understand why he is so calm about this. Is he so easily resigning himself to the wishes of his sister over the safety of his daughter?

"Then why are we still here?" She asks incredulously, twisting out of his arm. "We need to get going. Now."

"Clarke. Hold on. Let's not be hasty."

"How are you so calm about this?" She is on the verge of shrieking. "You just said you don't believe our daughter is safe from her."

"I'm calm because I know what we're facing now. And because she did promise not to hurt them, even if she was a bit more reluctant when it came to Madi."

"Reluctant? How am I supposed to stake my daughter's life on a _reluctant_ promise?" She can feel her voice climbing out of control, overtaken by emotion as her wits have been, yet is powerless to stop it. She knows she's making a scene in front of her children and her friends. But how is it possible that the man she loves is being so... so _blasé_ about this?

"Clarke." He turns to face her directly, and takes her hands, and murmurs to her alone. "I know this is frightening. But let's think about it logically, yes? A very wise woman once asked me to try that. We stay here, and we keep a very careful eye on the kids. We don't leave them alone with Octavia, ever, even though she's promised not to hurt them. We've got a whole group of friends at our backs, plenty of people to help watch over them. And then we can work out what it is she wants, and how to share the valley, and what's really gone on here."

"I don't like it." She tells him ineffectually as he strokes the back of one hand with his thumb. "I want to go back to the valley with the kids and live in peace."

"I know. I want that too. And I think this is how we get to peace."

…...

Following orders is what Nathan Miller does best. It has always been that way, and although he has sometimes heard it said that it makes him a bit of a sheep and that he ought to stand up for himself occasionally, he wouldn't have it any other way. Following orders is what he was born to do, and it's no cop-out or soft option. He does it to a high standard, and he does it with pride.

And he does it, most importantly of all, without question.

That brings him, this morning, to a bit of a difficulty, because for the first time in his life he finds himself wanting to question his orders. Or, at least, wondering whether he's taking his orders from the right source. Because Bellamy Blake has just walked back into his world, the friend and leader he followed for so long, and he can't help feeling distinctly uncomfortable at the thought that they don't currently seem to be entirely on the same side. As he escorted Bellamy and Clarke and their children into Octavia's presence last night, he couldn't help feeling that they all seemed a bit frightened, and that perhaps, he ought to be protecting his old leader, not leading him into distress. And this morning, when he appeared and demanded to see Octavia – well, he's only pleased she agreed to it and saved him from having to work out where his loyalties lie.

He wants to talk it over with Eric. He would know what to say, would have the compassion and level head to see every side of the issue. And, above all, he would be kind and patient and supportive while he grapples with this thing which is fast approaching an identity crisis.

But Nate's in the middle of a shift guarding Bloodreina's door. And Eric's in the middle of trying to sober Abby up before Clarke realises what is wrong. And it seems that it will be quite some time before they get a moment to simply be together and look after one another.

He checks the time. Octavia – no, Bloodreina, he reminds himself – has been in her quarters alone for well over an hour, now, since Bellamy left. Perhaps he ought to check on her? Ask if she has any orders for the day ahead?

He knocks tentatively on the door.

"Come in." Her voice is as cool as ever, but on opening the door he can't help but feel that her usual warpaint seems to have melted down her face a little. And there's something slightly wrong with the look in her eyes. And all in all, something seems to be amiss.

"Can I do anything for you, Bloodreina?"

"I don't know, can you? You're the one who knocked on the door."

"I just thought -"

"Don't." She snaps harshly. "Thinking's not what I promoted you for."

He bows, awkwardly, and wonders when bowing to his friend's little sister started seeming necessary.

"Very well, Bloodreina. I'll be going then. I ought to go and check all is set up for the Pit this afternoon."

"There will be no fight in the Pit this afternoon."

"Pardon?" Surely he has misheard her.

"There will be no fight in the Pit this afternoon."

"But, Bloodreina, there are the three women who were found stealing food -"

"And they will face justice." She bites out. "But not today. There will be no fight today."

"Very well, Bloodreina. I'll pass the message on."

"Thank you. And, Miller?"

"Yes?"

"My name's Octavia. Octavia Blake."

…...

Bellamy isn't happy. How could he be? Clarke is still cold towards him, still evidently less than happy with his judgement that they ought to stay and give Octavia – well, not the benefit of the doubt, not really, but at least a chance for as long as it takes them to find out what's actually happened here. But he's grateful, at least, that she trusts him enough that she is still by his side, quiet and almost surly, but outwardly supportive.

All the same, he thinks it might be the worst argument they've had in four years and eleven months. They've bickered a little, of course, over whose turn it was to tidy up after the baby or why he'd done something she considered mildly dangerous, but they've never properly disagreed over the welfare of the kids like this.

He hates it. And he hates his sister, too, by association, for causing this damn situation.

Miller appears in their camp that afternoon and passes on Octavia's invitation to come and discuss the move to Shallow Valley. He answers in the affirmative before Clarke has a chance to make public the difference of opinion between them, and they get themselves ready, and follow his old friend into the bunker.

He wishes they could have brought a little backup with them. Their friends seem to trust Echo, now, and she would certainly be handy in a fight. They make their way through the Pit, and as he holds Gus he positions the toddler's head against his chest. He doesn't want his little boy to have nightmares about this place. He rather expects Clarke to be making some attempt, too, at disguising the truth of all this blood from Madi, but on the contrary, she is letting their daughter look around her inquisitively.

He knows what she's doing. She's a clever woman, his Clarke. She's making sure that Madi knows to stay on her guard.

They arrive at Octavia's quarters, and Miller knocks, and opens the door, and lets them in, and then makes as if to leave.

"Stay, Miller." Octavia barks, then seems to realise how that sounded. "Please, have a seat. I'd like your input, too."

"Yes. Of course... Octavia."

They all take seats, Gus in his lap, Madi opting to perch on the arm of Clarke's chair like a curious bird.

"Welcome." Octavia says. Her smile does not look how he remembers. "Please, take something to eat and drink." She offers a tray of refreshments.

No one moves.

"I think you're supposed to taste it first." Madi advises her. "Isn't that how it works, when you're sharing food with people you want to make peace with? That's how it goes in all Bellamy's stories."

His sister looks ready to stab someone, and he wonders if he ought to interrupt, but Gus does so instead.

"Stories!" His son contributes helpfully. "Daddy tell stories?"

"Not just now, son." He whispers soothingly. "This evening we'll have stories."

"You're right." Octavia seems to have gathered her thoughts, meanwhile, and takes a piece of some foodstuff he cannot identify. "It's only proper for me to eat first. Here, Madi, eat with me."

He feels a cold horror steal over him as his daughter reaches out towards the plate, his sister holding eye contact with her all the while, as if this is some kind of test. He sees Clarke stiffen and place a hand on Madi's knee.

She doesn't just ignore her. She physically brushes her hand away, and he finds himself wishing that this _pre_ - _teenage rebellion phase_ would take a less life-threatening turn.

"Of course, Aunt Octavia." She picks up a portion, and he hears the message loud and clear. His daughter is not about to be intimidated by someone who used to be her hero.

Until she met her, that is. Until she met her only yesterday.

Octavia eats, and Madi eats, and he braces himself for her collapsing or vomiting or frothing at the mouth, but no such thing happens. On the contrary, his sister breaks into a true smile, the first completely natural smile he has seen on her face since the opening of the bunker.

"She's good, Bell. She's very good. And she's definitely your daughter." She leans across her desk and reaches out to clasp Madi's hand. "Welcome to the family, Niece."


	8. Chapter eight

Clarke thinks that she is probably relieved that Octavia is shaking Madi's hand. And certainly, the fact that the leader of Wonkru is looking at her young daughter with _respect_ rather than hostility is certainly progress. But in the face of the mess of anxiety and anger currently littering her mind, it seems the relief is struggling to break through. She's not used to being angry with Bellamy, and it seems to be taking its toll on her ability to think straight.

"Spare us the drama, Octavia." Bellamy sounds almost as displeased as she feels. "Let's get on with this meeting. It'll take your people between a week and ten days to march to the valley. Avoid the desert. We'll take the rover back and see you when you get there."

"You're not staying with us?"

"We'll go ahead and get the rest of the homes in the village ready for your people." He says it tonelessly, as if, she thinks, hoping that keeping his voice carefully neutral will convince his sister he's not running away from her. "We can always do some extra runs in the rover to pick up any essential equipment you can't carry."

"OK. Yes. Of course."

"We'll make your people feel welcome." Clarke feels she is probably supposed to say something ostensibly friendly.

"Yes. I look forward to it. So you'll leave tomorrow morning?"

Clarke is about to agree when Bellamy reminds her why it is, exactly, that she loves him quite so much.

"We were planning to leave now, actually. We've still got enough daylight to get back there today."

"Now?"

"Yes. But we'll see you again soon. You'll be home before you know it." She hears his voice soften just a little at the look on the face of this young woman who suddenly looks like his sister again in her sadness, and reaches out to squeeze his hand.

"OK. Well, if you're sure."

"Yes. We're... we're all keen to get home, I think."

"Of course. I understand." She stands, and Clarke takes that as her cue to do the same while Madi does likewise. "Bellamy... would you – could I speak to you, first? Just for a moment?"

He looks to her for reassurance, and she nods ever so slightly before walking the children to the door, Miller hot on their heels.

"Sure."

The last thing she sees as the door closes is the forced smile he directs at the woman formerly known as Octavia Blake.

…...

Octavia feels the floor give way beneath her feet at the news that her brother is to go home immediately, that he can't even bear to be in her presence long enough to stay the night and drive in the morning. She can't let him leave now, not like this. She needs him. She needs him to ground her, remind her who she used to be. And she needs him to hold her together and offer his unconditional protection.

But it seems he's a bit preoccupied with doing those things for his new family, now.

"What is it, Octavia?" He asks, briskly but not unkindly.

"I just thought – I wanted to invite you to stay. You could stay with me, and walk to the valley with us. Meet up with the others later."

"No, I'll stay with Clarke and the kids." She half expected him to say he'd stay with his family, but at least he seems to realise that would be insensitive.

She knows that's what he means, anyway. And she wonders if, maybe, it's time to admit defeat. A warrior knows when she is beaten, when it's time to pause, regroup and try again.

"OK. I understand."

"Good – I – I love them. So much. And I love Clarke, and she hates Polis. Too many ghosts. I need to go home with her." She is not so preoccupied with her own concerns that she cannot see the worry in his eyes as he stands up and makes clear his intention to leave.

"I get that, big brother. I'll see you soon." She knows what she needs to say next, strengthens her resolve, sets her jaw. "I'm happy for you, Bellamy. Really."

"Thanks, O." She almost breaks down at that, suddenly overwhelmed at the realisation that this one gesture of humanity was all that was ever needed for her to be _O_ once more. "I'll see you next week."

He surprises her by pulling her in for a firm hug before he leaves the room.

…...

They arrive home without mishap, and eat a less than inspiring meal Bellamy has scrounged together from their food stores. He will need to take out a hunting party tomorrow, he notes, and he will be only too glad to do so. It will do him good to get out and stretch his legs after those days of feeling trapped in Polis.

He puts the children to bed while Clarke unpacks the rover – or rather, he _tries_ to put the children to bed. Madi is having none of his fatherly meddling. She has apparently decided that, if she is old enough to face down her fearsome aunt, she is old enough to deploy her younger brother's pyjamas without assistance.

"Go speak to Clarke." She recommends wisely but, he thinks, at least a little tactlessly, while she locates a story to read to Gus. "She needs you more right now that we do. Remind her we're OK and Octavia doesn't seem to want us dead, yet."

It's a good thing, of course, that his daughter is not frightened, but he thinks that in this situation a little more healthy caution might be advisable.

"She's right to be worried about you, you know."

"Yes. She is, that's what mothers do. But she's not right to be angry at you for making a sensible decision."

"I understand why she was upset though." He feels the need, somehow, to defend the woman he loves, even to their own child.

"Don't you think you ought to go and tell her that?" Madi recommends with a quirked brow, and he admits defeat.

With a chuckle and a fair amount of hugging he bids the children goodnight and goes to seek out their mother. He finds her in their bedroom, unpacking bags and folding clothes.

"That was quick." Clarke glances up on his arrival.

"Yeah. Madi insisted she'd got it. She thought I should be out here telling you that I understand why you were upset."

"She's a bright girl."

"She takes after her mother."

"Flattery isn't going to get you out of this one." She tells him, her tone playful, but he can hear the truth beneath her words.

"I know." He says, and reaches out to take her hand. He reckons that a little physical affection is more important, right now, than the shirt she is folding. "I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable. I genuinely thought I was doing the right thing, but I didn't mean to dismiss your worries about the kids."

"I know." She echoes. "I think you probably were doing the right thing, actually. I just really hate Polis at the best of times."

"I know you do." He soothes gently, and pulls her a little closer. "That's what I told O."

"What?"

"When she wanted to see me this morning. She was trying to get me to stay with her but – I told her I needed to come home with you."

"Thank you." She closes the distance between them at last and steps into his embrace.

"I love you." He whispers into the top of her head, because he likes to remind her.

"I love you, too." She murmurs back, dropping a soft kiss onto the place where his neck meets his shoulder.

And that is all the permission he needs, really, to get on with showing her just how much he has missed her in recent days. It's all very well, going on camping trips and spending almost every minute of every day together, but it's not the same as _this_ togetherness, in the privacy of their own home, kids in bed and friends behind closed doors. He has missed being able to talk openly with her, without risk of eavesdroppers, and he has missed being able to touch every inch of her skin.

He bends his neck to kiss her, softly at first, but Clarke doesn't let him prevaricate for long. Her lips are moving hungrily against his, and her hands have already found their way up his shirt, and it isn't long before her trousers seem to have been lost by the wayside and he's reminding her that she's _incredible_.

The whole experience is pretty incredible, really. He's heard that make-up sex is supposed to be good, yet until now he's never really experienced it. After all, they don't make a habit of falling out. But this one evening has him utterly convinced that, in fact, those people were telling the absolute truth.

…...

Raven's still angry, Echo notes, but that's hardly news. Raven gets angry a lot. It's one of her defining features, that fierceness that burns inside of her, and it's one of the things that makes her at least a little awe-inspiring.

But it also makes her infuriating. And difficult to get close to, and even more difficult to apologise to. So it is that, when Raven announces to the remnants of Spacekru still sitting round the fire that she is going to bed, Echo makes no attempt whatsoever to follow. She knows it will do her little good to go and try to play happy families tonight. No, tonight is a night for sitting up and keeping vigil over those she loves and wondering whether it is her fate to be always, essentially, alone.

There are only Harper and Monty left now, lost in each other's eyes in that sickeningly adorable way that they have. She supposes it is only a matter of time until the pair of them take their beautiful relationship home to their beautiful blue-painted cottage.

"I'll see you in a bit." Harper's voice breaks through her reverie. "I'll stay up with Echo for a little while."

She will? That's news. They're close, of course, as they have been ever since they first hit it off on the Ring five years ago, but her friend hasn't often chosen to stay up with her over sleeping with Monty. And based on the looks on all of these ridiculous couples' faces as they look forward to their first night at home after a low-privacy camping adventure, she's pretty sure that's what is on the schedule for her friends, tonight. So she can't really fathom why Harper is making a priority of hanging around to chat to her now.

"What's wrong?" Her friend asks softly as soon as Monty is out of earshot.

Echo shrugs. "Nothing."

"Oh, come on." Harper sounds almost _angry_ , she thinks. "I like to think I know you better than that by now. You only stay up when you're upset, these days. And Raven's looking at you like a kicked puppy -"

"She is?" Echo interrupts, incredulous, because that would imply that she's _hurt_ rather than only angry, and that would imply she actually _cares_ , and, well, that would be incredibly good news.

"Yes. She is." Harper sighs and offers her a half smile. "You know she's a bit slow to forgive, Echo. She'll get there. _You_ 'll get there."

"I don't know what you mean."

"You're not fooling me. Neither of you are fooling me. I love you both but – you're two of the most screwed up people I know, I think. No offence. With the things you've both been through, it's no wonder you both find it a bit tricky to love."

She giggles at that, because she thinks that _two of the most screwed up people I know_ is putting it a bit mildly. "You might have a point."

"Go on. Staying up late torturing yourself doesn't suit you. Go home."

"Yeah." She nods briskly. She has a lot of respect for Harper's opinions, and if Harper thinks that she should go home, it seems silly to refuse. "I think I will."

…...

Raven doesn't know what she wanted from this evening, but she knows that this isn't it. She's sort of got used to Echo following her round like a loyal and rather formidable shadow over the last couple of years and she's been unpleasantly surprised by her abruptly ceasing to do so in recent days. First there was that night when she went off with Ivon – and, obviously, she was expecting that, has she mentioned that? - but all the same, it wasn't _nice_ to find Echo's loyalty vanishing so abruptly. And then tonight, when she announced she was going to bed and left the fire, she just sort of presumed Echo would follow her. That's what she does, isn't it? Following people even into the jaws of death? Following a woman she claims to have the hots for into the home they share should present no problem to her, surely.

So why, oh why, is she still outside? Raven can almost picture her in her mind's eye, probably perched on a log, gazing at the fire, sword across her knees, just in case any mysterious threat should emerge from the trees and threaten the people she loves. She's never decided, really, whether it's more reassuring or creepy that Echo keeps vigil in that unmoving way.

She mentally shakes herself and makes a start on getting ready for bed. Clearly Echo is not coming home to her any time soon, so she might as well get on with living her life. She removes her brace, and changes into the leggings that pass for pyjama bottoms in the wake of the second apocalypse, and is half way through tugging her shirt over her head when she realises she has company.

"Sorry." Echo makes a point of averting her eyes from her topless state as she goes to reverse back through her bedroom door.

"No, stay." Raven hastens to ask as she throws on an old T shirt. She's not quite sure what to do, now. She'd like to walk over and pull her into a hug, in spite of her post-Ivon displeasure, but she's just taken her brace off, and the door is a good few paces away.

For want of a better option, she pats the space beside her on the bed rather self-consciously.

"Are you sure?" Echo is looking at her like this invitation might bite.

"Yes." She states firmly. "Decided not to stay up?"

"Yeah. I thought that – I thought maybe it would be more useful to come apologise to you. I'm sorry."

"I don't think you need to be sorry." Raven admits heavily. "You don't owe me anything. You're at perfect liberty to spend the night with Ivon as often as you please."

"I already told you it was a waste of time. I don't think I'm going to end up doing it again." She points out lightly, and Raven feels her lips quirking just a little in response. "And I am sorry, Raven, because I knew it would hurt you, and I did it anyway."

"I forgive you." They're not words that come naturally to her, usually, but this is Echo and if she's going to inspire her loyalty in the face of actual competition from those inside the bunker, she's going to have to step out of her comfort zone at least a little.

The words have barely left her lips when, suddenly, warm arms are closing around her and Echo's cheek is resting on her shoulder and, she thinks, she can feel the barest whisper of soft lips against the crook of her neck.

Maybe, she wonders, it might be worth experimenting with forgiveness more often, if moments like this are the result.


	9. Chapter nine

It is a short week – or, at least, Clarke cannot help but feel that it rushes past all too quickly. She would rather prefer the last seven days before their peaceful valley is invaded by the massed forces of Wonkru to stretch out forever.

Not that they are invading, of course. They are coming to share the valley peacefully, and their leader is, in fact, family to her. But all the same, she cannot help but cling on to the last remnants of the uncomplicated family life she lives with her lover and children. And their friends from space, too, but somehow she's grown accustomed to their company already. Monty and Harper have always been easy to get on with, and they have spent the greater part of this week volunteering to drive the rover between Polis and Shallow Valley in order to transport all that Wonkru cannot carry, so they have certainly not been an overbearing presence. Echo tends to keep to herself, or to Raven's company, or Harper's, so Clarke has not been obliged to decide quite what she makes of the addition of this former traitor to the group. The biggest surprise of all, she notes, is that Murphy has become quite so easy to get along with. She saw the seeds of this, she remembers, in his devotion to Emori back in the lab all those years ago, or even in his role in keeping her supplied with nightblood in the City of Light, but he has somehow grown into an insufferable joker with a _heart_ , and it's really a little sickeningly wonderful to see it.

She knows that things will change, when Octavia arrives, but she is no clearer to knowing _how_ things will change. The answers they have received on the matter of their children's safety have been unsatisfactory at best, and beyond the idea that _sharing_ will be a feature, she's no closer to a clear picture of how the land will be managed and the people accommodated.

She may be the commander of death, and the former leader of her people, but all she can do, in this moment, amidst this helpless waiting game, is sit in the dirt and watch her ducks peck ineffectually at the dust.

"How's Horace?" Bellamy's warm voice interrupts her musings.

"Horace the first and second seem well. I think Horace the third might be getting old, though."

"Yes. I'm not an expert on the lifespan of ducks." He settles himself uncomplainingly on the ground by her side.

"That surprises me. Are none of those books filling our house about ducks?"

"No. Apparently Becca wasn't into her poultry farming."

She shakes herself a little. There must be something more important going on in the world than this. "Did you need something?"

"I reckon you'd probably laugh at me if I said I only needed the pleasure of your company."

As if to prove his point, she giggles at that. "Yes. Yes I would."

"Thought so. I actually wanted to tell you that Octavia will get here tomorrow. Monty and Harper just told me." She reaches instinctively for his hand.

"OK. Well – what's the plan?"

"I thought plans were your job?"

"I think they're Octavia's job, now."

"You might be right." He sounds sad at the thought, and she shuffles a little closer to his warmth. "I was thinking – this is so stupid, she's my sister after all – but I was thinking, we should all hang out tonight. As a sort of extended family thing, one last time before – before everything changes."

"Yeah." She agrees thoughtfully. "What do you think it will be like?"

It's a terrible question, she knows. It is vague and broad and, worst of all, completely unanswerable.

"I have no idea." He tells her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her into his side. "But knowing us, we'll work it out."

…...

Emori was worried that John would disappear when they reached the ground, would be replaced by that cold-hearted _Murphy_ that the relics of Skaikru still seem to detest, that single-minded survivor with no time for the feelings of others. She was concerned that, perhaps, the warmth and laughter that have become such key facets of his character over the last five years would give way beneath the pressure of life on Earth, and that she would find herself in love with a man who no longer exists. She loved him before their time in space, of course she did, but not in the same deep and all-consuming way she loves him now.

She is pleased to find that she couldn't have been more wrong. If anything, she notes, the return to Earth seems only to have further emphasised his newfound community spirit, as his definition of family has expanded seamlessly to include Clarke and Bellamy and their kids. And, sure, he's not exactly become a _children_ kind of a person, but he seems to be enjoying the opportunity to rekindle a sense of brotherhood with Bellamy, and Madi is old enough that he can joke with her and call her _hobbit_ rather than acknowledge that he knows nothing of how to be an uncle.

She is enjoying sitting in the house they have adopted as a workshop and sorting through the tech that has been salvaged from the bunker. Of course she is. Playing with electronics is one of her favourite activities, second only to screwing John Murphy. But she has to admit that she enjoys it even more when he walks into the room, unannounced, and interrupts her concentration with kisses.

"A little busy here." She says, trying to look fierce, when he pulls away.

"You're never too busy to make time for me." He informs her, and it's not far from the truth.

"You're insufferable."

"Yes. And that's why you love me."

She shakes her head at that, a smile playing about her lips. "Why are you here?"

"To see you."

"Wow." She deadpans. "Romance isn't dead."

"Also to tell you that Bellamy's throwing a party for the last night before his sister shows up. Because that's indicative of a healthy sibling relationship. And because a couple of roast ducks and some cabbage and moonshine totally makes a _party_."

"I doubt there will be duck." Emori counters with spirit. "They seem to be pets, I don't think they eat them."

"Even better. Just cabbage and moonshine."

"Sounds like a blast." She says, and she thinks she ought to mean in genuinely, but it would appear some of John's sarcasm is rubbing off on her.

"That's what I said, too."

She laughs at that, and abandons her task. Sorting scrap can wait. Shoving this perfectly imperfect man up against the wall of the workshop and having her way with him, however, is a rather immediate necessity.

…...

Monty has been watching Harper for almost as long as he can remember. He can vaguely recall glimpsing her from the other side of the Skybox, once upon a time, in another life, that flash of blonde hair that could light up even the darkest of times. And he can certainly see, even now, in his minds' eye, the Harper he first observed on the ground, beautiful amongst and over and above all that was so terrible about their first months on Earth. He can remember, too, the way that she would hang on Jasper's every word, and all the same, still, he would watch. He looked out for her at Mount Weather, as well, as best as he could given the circumstances, and he thinks that was when things started to change. When he stopped trying to hide the fact he couldn't keep his eyes off her.

It scares him, then, that he is trying to pretend _not_ to watch her now. He just knows, somehow, that she would be displeased to know quite how much he is worrying about her. And it's not as if there's anything he can do. He knows full well that he cannot wish children into existing, cannot bring about conception through sheer force of positive thinking. After all, if such a thing were possible, he'd have long since achieved it. He's the most optimistic optimist he knows, even after all he's seen and done.

Instead of watching her, then, he decides to take action. Gus might not be her own flesh and blood, but he knows how much she loves the little boy already. He is, it must be conceded, a very lovable child. Or perhaps, he muses, Gus just seems lovable compared with his rather odd older sister. He still can't quite work out what to make of Madi, and for all his optimism he can't quite overcome the feeling that she has the potential to be rather frightening. Slightly bizarrely, he notes, Murphy seems to be the only one who's really hit it off with the girl so far.

It is with caution, therefore, that Monty skirts around the edge of the fire, where Raven and Bellamy are in the midst of setting up the music and Madi is bickering cheerfully with Clarke about the menu and Gus is getting under everyone's feet.

"Monty." Clarke looks up from the fish she is gutting and greets him warmly. "Welcome to what passes for a party around here."

"Thanks. It looks good. I was just wondering – would it help if we watched Gus for a while? You guys seem to have lots to do."

Of course, it is not Clarke who replies. It is her precocious daughter.

"I don't think it matters to us either way." She says sharply, and he finds himself somewhat taken aback at her tone until she continues in a rather surprising direction. "But I guess it'll help Harper to spend some time with him and feel useful while she's at it."

He ought to pick his jaw up off the floor, he thinks, but he's not altogether clear on how he is supposed to achieve that just now.

"Madi." Clarke says gently. "I think you could have been more tactful about that."

"No." He finds his voice again. "She's absolutely right. I – thank you, Madi. I think it would do Harper and me good to babysit for a while, if that's OK with your mum, too?"

"Of course." Clarke agrees warmly. "He adores you both already."

"Thanks. That means a lot."

"Glad that's settled." Madi sounds, somehow, like a surly pre-teen once again. "Fish should be ready in about half an hour."

Perhaps he has misjudged her, he wonders, as he takes her little brother by the hand and leads him to the cottage he and Harper call home. Perhaps Madi is not frightening. Perhaps she is only remarkable.

…...

Raven doesn't know what tomorrow will bring. She knows the _logistics_ of what it will bring, of course – it will bring eight hundred people, most of them strangers, the majority whole, and a good number single. It will bring, therefore, rather a lot of _options_ which, presumably, someone as incredible as Echo might find herself in a position to make the most of. But she doesn't know what it will bring for _them_ , in as much as there is a _them_ , because she doesn't know at all what's going on in Echo's head.

She supposes she could ask. That seems like the kind of thing the actual couples she sees around her do, communication and honest conversation. She has a feeling that Clarke and Bellamy would just talk it out, if ever they found themselves in a similar situation. She envies them rather a lot, because she can't really imagine a miscommunication ever getting between them, when she sees the pair of them now, reading each other's every thought. She's heard it implied by her old friends that they did have a misunderstanding, once, but she just cannot fathom the thought of them ever being in this awkward limbo that her and Echo find themselves in right now. No, it's not plausible at all.

And it is not plausible, either, that she could suddenly become the kind of person who speaks openly about her feelings. She has too much baggage, tucked away, carefully concealed, to reveal herself to Echo like that. But as she looks across the fire at her housemate tossing back another shot of moonshine, grinning at something Emori has said, she wants very much to be that kind of person.

She supposes she has to start somewhere. After all, if she doesn't, then one of those eight hundred people is surely going to beat her to it. And she thought she was ready to retire gracefully into the shadows, she thought that she had resigned herself to watching Echo fall in love with someone more suitable. But that lonely night while she was with Ivon has proven quite conclusively that this is not the case.

"Something on your mind?" Clarke takes a seat by her side, without waiting for an invitation. Clarke Griffin always does what she wants, it seems, and some things do not change. It is just as well, then, that she has mostly been in agreement with her decisions of late.

"I don't know." She says, quite untruthfully, because honesty is, as she has recently concluded, rather frightening.

"Me neither." Clarke says with a shrug. "I can't decide whether I'm worried about tomorrow or excited about the future. Just imagine, we have a chance to build a real, peaceful society here. But I'm so busy panicking about the kids that I don't know what to think."

"How do you plan to deal with it?" She asks, and she somehow simultaneously means the anxiety and the future and everything about the situation, all at once.

"Just keep everyone I love close to me, I guess." Her old friend is staring at her, she can feel the weight of her eyes, but she is powerless, somehow, to do anything other than continue to gaze at Echo across the fire.

She supposes she ought to reply, but she hasn't anything intelligent to say.

"I recommend you do the same." Clarke advises at last, before standing and taking herself back to her family.

It takes Raven a while to process her words, because she's a bit slow on the uptake when it comes to matters of the heart, but she gets there eventually. She gets up from her chair, puts one foot in front of the other. Forces herself to circle the fire and pass Emori. And finally, decisively, channelling her inner Clarke, she sits herself by Echo's side. There isn't really space for her, but it seems that is no problem, as she leans into Echo's side and makes do.

"You OK?" Echo asks softly, as Emori suddenly becomes fascinated by Bellamy's attempts to get Gus to eat his supper rather than throw it.

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah. I'm a bit nervous about tomorrow." Really? That doesn't sound right. Echo doesn't get nervous, she's pretty sure. Or rather, she _was_ pretty sure, before hearing those very words.

"What do you have to be nervous of?" She asks, confused.

"What if they try to reinstate my banishment?" Echo asks, but she thinks the question must be rhetorical. There is, after all, no good answer. "And I'm nervous for our friends, and for Bellamy and Clarke's kids."

Raven can't help but feel something of a warm glow at that, at such blatant evidence that this woman so many see only as a cold-hearted spy is actually so full of love and light.

"I don't know what will happen." She says, because it is the truth, but it seems somehow inadequate so she takes a deep breath and tries again. "But I know that I'm not letting Octavia hurt anyone I care about, and you're on that list."

She feels her eyes grow wide at her boldness, and gulps down oxygen, trying desperately to recover from the shock of admitting that out loud.

"Thank you." Echo whispers in reply. "My list is pretty short, but your name is at the top. You know that, right?"

She didn't know that, actually. Or not in so many words, anyway.

"I do now." Without giving herself time to overthink it, she reaches an arm around Echo's waist. That's not an inappropriate thing to do, surely, between two people who care about each other.

Based on the way Echo's face lights up with joy, she is in complete agreement.


	10. Chapter ten

Octavia isn't sure what she's expecting to find on her arrival at the valley. She knows little about it, beyond that the hunting is good, and that there are enough homes for her advisers, and that the rest of her people will have to camp until they have built shelters. One thing, though, she is certain of.

She will feel like an unwelcome intruder.

Sure enough, when she arrives at the head of Wonkru, there is no guard of honour to greet her. Bellamy stands at the edge of the clearing, waving self-consciously, and Monty is pottering about in a vegetable plot. Through an open door, she can vaguely hear Raven swearing at something, and a woman's laugh in response.

As she expected. Some welcome this is.

Well, then. There is no point in her standing around and expecting to be treated like a queen. Her place has been made entirely clear to her, whether she likes it or not. She therefore pulls her brother into a hug that she very much hopes he can tell is genuine and heartfelt, and then starts to give orders to her people. Indra and Gaia are to have the first pick of the accommodation, of course, and then Miller who will presumably want Jackson to live with him, too, and then Abby and Kane may choose next, for the sake of keeping Clarke vaguely on side, and then the rest of her advisers may squabble over what is left.

Too late, she realises she has set no house aside for herself. She just presumed, instinctively, that she would be living with the big brother who was her whole world for so many years, but of course, as his daughter chucks a trowel at him and tells him affectionately to stop standing around, it dawns on her that he lives with other people, now.

Armed with his trowel, about to go and do his menial errands, he does at least loiter for long enough to help her out of this crisis of her own making.

"We thought you might want the cottage next door to ours. We sort of set it aside for you. It's a bit smaller than ours, just right for one person, and you'll be able to pop over whenever you want."

Pop over whenever she wants? Bloodreina does not _pop over_ next door on a whim. And, anyway, how is she to have her quarters securely guarded if she lives in a small cottage on the edge of the village, alone?

Of course, Bellamy has walked off by the time she has thought of these objections, grinning at his daughter and brandishing his trowel. Never mind, she tells herself. It will be Miller's problem to work out how to keep her safe. She had better go deposit her pack in this expertly chosen cottage.

And then, she supposes, she had better look like a ruler. There are tents to be pitched, and dinner to be caught. There are also, she recalls, prisoners to be guarded, somehow. She still hasn't set them to fight, having as she does some vague idea that her brother might look at her with less open hostility if she stops making a habit of putting people to death for disagreeing with her. But that leaves her with something of a problem, now, as she faces the question of how to detain them securely in this idyllic valley.

She hated that bunker. So much is certain. But in this moment, she finds herself desperately wishing to go home.

…...

Clarke cannot believe how quickly things start to go wrong. Wonkru have been in Shallow Valley for scarcely twenty-four hours when she hears the first whispers of discontent. Murmurings that this is not what was promised, this makeshift life of makeshift tents. Grumblings that the advisers live a comfortable life, while the working men must work all the harder. Mutterings about the prisoners, about the unfair inconsistencies of these traitors living when so many others have died at Bloodreina's bidding.

Suggestions that Octavia is not a ruler for this above-ground life.

And those whispers would be worrying enough on their own, of course they would. But that is not the worst of it.

Somehow, someone has found out that Madi and Gus are nightbloods, despite the care they have taken not to let this become common knowledge. And it leaves Clarke absolutely petrified. It does not take a genius, she thinks, to put two and two together here. To work out that, in world where the people are unhappy with this ruler, and there are two other obvious alternatives wandering around, it is only a matter of time before her children find themselves the figureheads of an ill-thought-through rebellion.

And then her happy family life with her beautiful baby, and her strong girl, and her formidable lover, will start to unravel, and she will be left clutching at threads of nothingness. She can't let that happen. She simply will not tolerate the idea. So it is that she realises she needs to do what she always does in times of distress.

She needs to talk to Bellamy.

"Hello, handsome." It's the kind of ostentatious endearment she wouldn't usually bother with, and she knows that he knows this. He's no fool, and she is certain he will pick up on this and realise that it is a less than subtle code.

These are not usual circumstances.

He catches her eye, catches too at her waist, and pulls her in for a showy kiss. "Morning, babe."

She nearly loses it at that, nearly ruins it all with a laugh despite the seriousness of the situation. But it seems, though, that their staged affection has done the job. The team of Wonkru warriors who are working alongside Bellamy on the housing situation take a couple of subtle steps backwards, avert their eyes from the activities of this loving couple.

She sighs in relief, and pulls him back in for another kiss. Trails her lips down his neck, and back up to his ear. Whispers her message, even as his hands start to roam the curves of her butt.

"I need to talk to you. Now. Without anyone getting suspicious. Make it look like we're headed for the bedroom?"

He doesn't need to be told twice. This is, she thinks, just one of the many reasons why she loves him. He scoops her into his arms and, with a smirk at the circle of uncomfortable strangers, carries her towards their house, kissing all the while.

He kicks the door closed behind him and sets her down.

"What's wrong?"

"I've been hearing things, Bellamy. Ever since they arrived, about how they're losing faith in Octavia."

"I've been hearing that, too. It's no surprise." He tries to sound matter-of-fact about it, but she knows his feelings on the state of his sister's grip on power are rather more complicated than that.

"Well, yes. But then – then I saw this man, this great big _ox_ of a man – how is he even that size, after five years living in that bunker? - I saw him pointing at Madi and whispering to his friend. And then – then someone at the well asked me _outright_ whether it was true that the kids were nightbloods."

"Hey. Hey, it's going to be OK, Clarke." He wraps his arms around her, but for once, she doesn't find it particularly comforting. She finds it frustrating, and a little patronising. They need to fix this, damn it, not stand around pretending everything will be OK if she only keeps calm.

"No. It's not. It's not, and you know it's not. If just one of these dozens and dozens of people who are unhappy with Octavia decides to try to put Madi on that throne -"

"Why are you only worried about Madi, here, anyway?" He sounds annoyed, and that gives her pause. She's not used to him sounding annoyed with her, these days.

"I just think that's their obvious move. She's older, and she acts older still, and she's not a blood relative of Octavia." She forces herself to sound reasonable, to address the thrust of his question. "I'm worried about Gus, too, of course I am."

"Don't be. I'll talk to my sister, give her the names of the people you've heard being disloyal. She can deal with them."

"Are you out of your mind? We're talking about a huge number of people, Bellamy. She'd kill them all, and you know it. And I don't even know their names -"

"Well, then, Clarke. What do you want me to do about it? Because so far you've shot down every single thing I've said." That's an unfair accusation, she thinks. She's only shot down _one_ thing. And pulled away from that hug. And asked whether he's out of his mind.

Hmm. Perhaps he has a point.

She kicks at the wall, once, hard. And then she reminds herself that the only way the pair of them have ever successfully solved anything is by working together.

"I don't know. I just wanted to tell you, because – because facing things together is what we do."

"I know." He sounds like he is trying to soothe the baby, she thinks. "I know. Come here."

She accepts this hug a bit more willingly, rests her forehead against his shoulder and wonders how, exactly, they are going to go about keeping their children alive.

As if he has read her mind, he offers a suggestion. "I think our best move, now, is to stay close to Octavia. She's already tried to reach out to me, and made it clear she'd like to know Gus better. We have to convince her that we're not interested in rebelling against her, so that if anyone does try anything, she knows that neither us nor the kids were behind it. We don't have to give her any names, if you won't or can't. Let's just give her dinner a bit more often."

She doesn't like it, but it's the smart move, and she's proud of him for thinking it through so calmly in such a stressful situation. "Yeah. You're probably right. When we've finished our fake sex, you should go find her, invite her to come over later."

"Yeah. I'll do that." He kisses her gently on the forehead. "You know what? Now we're here, we could _actually_ have sex. We might as well."

She laughs at that, squeezes him a little tighter round the waist. "You're impossible. Strangely, I'm not really in the mood right now."

"It was worth a try."

"Could we maybe play chess?" She asks, strangely shy at the challenge of asking a man she's been in a relationship with for five years to play a board game with her. "It's just – we could make the most of the time. It feels like it's been forever since we just sat down and played chess alone together."

"I'd like that." He agrees, and withdraws his arms from around her in order to go set up the pieces.

It is good, Clarke finds herself thinking, to be able to salvage something joyful from this afternoon. And it has her thinking that, actually, she might agree to let Harper babysit even more often in future.

…...

Madi has met very few people in her life – or, at least, she remembers meeting very few. She is vaguely aware that she lived in a bustling village until she was six years old, but her memories of that time are fuzzy at best, and only the faces of her _nomon_ and a handful of others stand out to her.

So it is that she was a bit miffed when she first met some of these Skaikru folk, whom she has idolised since almost the moment she first met Clarke and Bellamy. She knew, of course, that Raven was capable of being a bit brusque, and that Echo was not expected to be warm, but all the same, she was disappointed when her overall reception from her parents' friends was such a cold one.

So it is that, now, she is rather enjoying this warmer reception from the ranks of Wonkru. She hardly knows the name of half of those who have approached her since their arrival, pressing her hand, asking whether she really is Clarke and Bellamy's child, inquiring after her parentage and the state of her blood. She seems to remember that she was a little worried about being a nightblood, once, when she was small. But these days, having grown up in a loving family who share the trait, she sees it only as a cause for celebration, and is more than happy to confirm the truth to these friendly strangers who ask their questions.

She's not an idiot, of course. She knows that Octavia has no reason to want another nightblood flaunting their legitimacy in her face. But she has no intention of causing trouble and, besides which, they are family, and that ought to count for something. She intends, therefore, to make the most of the fact that so many people suddenly wish to befriend her.

She has volunteered to teach a fishing lesson, today, and is proud and a little surprised when there are over a dozen takers.

"You're good with a spear, for one so young."

It's a bit of a senseless compliment, she thinks. She's Shallow Valley clan, and a Griffin-Blake to boot. Of course she's good at things, and of course she's good at this one thing in particular. All the same, she smiles warmly at the kindly woman who has spoken.

"Thank you. I've had a lot of practice."

"What other talents have you got then, hmm? Any good with a sword?"

"Passable. Better with a gun. My dad taught me how to shoot." She finds herself warming up to the conversation, deciding that maybe this is not so senseless after all. "And my mum says I'm good at solving problems, too, but I'm not sure how much use that is as a talent."

"Oh, don't sell yourself short. Isn't all battle strategy just problem solving?"

Battle strategy? She didn't realise they were talking about battle strategy.

"Well, maybe. I'm not sure, of course, I've only ever lived in peace really. My parents, they know far more about things like that."

"Of course, dear." The kindly woman nods soothingly. "Of course, they're the experts. So, then. What do I do with this spear?"

…...

Raven knows she ought to be happy. Grateful, too, or at the very least relieved. Because Wonkru are here, now, and Echo is, as yet, safe and well, with not so much as the slightest sign of her banishment being reinstated. Yet she cannot help but feel that something is wrong. She can't put her finger on it, but she does not like these whispers that follow around Spacekru, does not like the watchful eyes and guarded glares.

And she certainly doesn't like living with so many people, once more. It's not just a matter of worrying that Echo might catch someone else's eye. There's something rather more fundamental about it, a suspicion of crowds, that she can't remember being afflicted with before. But she doesn't like the idea that, when something goes wrong, she and her friends will be so outnumbered, that they might be separated by space and strangers.

Sorry, if. _If_ something goes wrong.

She sighs with relief, that evening, when she gets in from a long day in engineering, and Echo is there, in their living room, in their house, in her life. It is the first time she's seen her all day, and she never realised until this moment quite how desperately she was missing her.

"You OK?" Raven asks, dropping onto a seat beside her. Stretching her bad leg out before her, kneading the muscles around her hip with her fist and trying to remind herself that her pain is always worse when she's stressed.

"Yeah. You're not, though." Echo points out perceptively, lifts her hand aside. Replaces it with her own gentle fingers.

"No. Thanks, that feels good." She can't allow herself to relax into it completely, though. "There's something wrong here, I'm sure there is. But I can't work out what."

"I can." Echo tells her conversationally. "Three people have asked me to help depose Octavia today alone."

Raven gasps in shock at that. "You can't, Echo. You mustn't. She'd kill you."

"Only if she caught me. And I fancy my chances, if she tries to put me in that pit."

"Echo." She knows she sounds like she is pleading, but there is nothing else for it. "You can't do that. You must know how much – how tough that would be on the people that care about you. To watch that."

"I guess." Echo sighs. "I'm not going to do it, anyway. She's your friend's sister, for a start. And heaven knows I've no reason to be loyal to her but – I'm loyal to you. And to Bellamy, by association, I suppose."

"Thank you. I just want you to be safe."

She doesn't respond to that, not directly, just keeps massaging that stiff muscle, and eventually moves on in a thoughtful tone. "I'm not sure I like the idea of replacing Octavia with an eleven year old child, anyway. I mean, she's bright, of course. But I think she should be allowed to be a child for a bit longer."

"You mean Madi?" She has to check, even though she cannot see another possibility.

"Yeah." Echo shakes her head, withdraws her hand. "This is silly. I'm not going to do it. Octavia's no worse than any other tyrant I've ever lived under, and I'm not going to help them with their damn coup. I'm going to get some sleep."

Raven pulls her in for a quick hug. "Sleep well. Do you think we could try to spend a bit more time together, over the next couple of days?"

Echo rewards her for that suggestion with a smile. "Yeah. Definitely. Sleep well yourself."

It's a nice sentiment, but it's not going to happen. And not just because of her leg, or her anxiety, or all these damn people who are filling up their new home.

No, she's rather more concerned with the whispers she can hear in the street outside.

The whispers of _no Bloodreina no more._


	11. Chapter eleven

Harper marks the end of one month and the coming of the next in much the same way as she has been doing for the last couple of years, now.

She sits on the toilet and weeps. And it's not just because the toilet is a convenient place for weeping, the one location in this picture-perfect cottage in this bustling village where she actually has absolute privacy. No, it's because every month, without fail, almost to the day, her body presents her with crystal-clear evidence that she is, in fact, not pregnant.

She's only young, she tells herself, just as she does every month. They have years ahead of them yet, her and Monty, to have a child. That's something she tells herself every month, too. And Monty loves her just the same, fertile or not. Another thing that, of course, that she tells herself every month.

This month, at least, there is something new. This month, she has friends with beautiful children, and she has the opportunity to be something approaching an aunt to them. She has, too, the chance to help train the Wonkru novitiates. Goodness only knows how Clarke engineered that one, she thinks, with a wry smile to herself through her tears. She hasn't said anything about it, of course, but the whole situation just smacks so strongly of Clarke's influence that she cannot see another explanation. There is no one else of her acquaintance who would find a single solution to so many issues, while all about her are still counting up the problems. And it is a good single solution, she cannot help but feel, that means Gaia has a bit of support with training the next generation, and Harper has the chance to feel useful and to work with these young people, so many of whom are parentless.

She's not clear on why, exactly, so many of the Wonkru children are orphans. There seems to have been a disproportionate amount of death in that bunker, and she's pretty sure there's more to it than the occasional criminal being sent to the fighting pits.

She files that thought away for another day, as she hears familiar footsteps in the corridor.

"Harper?"

"Hey, Monty. I'll be out in a moment."

"Great. I want us to have time for breakfast together before you go to help Gaia."

"Sounds good."

She finishes up in the bathroom, opens the door. Monty is still there, somehow, loitering just beyond the threshold with a concerned crease to his brow. She is about to open her mouth, to say something perky and inconsequential about the plan for the day ahead, when he pulls her into a tight hug, her head cradled against his collarbone.

That toilet may have absolute privacy, but it seems she would need more than absolute privacy to prevent this kindhearted man from knowing everything that is on her mind.

…...

It isn't until the graffiti that Octavia becomes truly concerned.

A few whispers here and there, the odd sideways glance, those things she was coping with. But the four foot high letters daubed across the wall of her cottage that proclaim _no Bloodreina no more_ , those are rather more alarming. They are alarming, of course, because they constitute a bold and direct threat to her safety, and because they are a very visible indicator that someone wants her gone.

But there's more to it than that, really. Because this isn't just a sign that some _one_ wants her gone, she is quick to realise. No, vandalism on that scale implies a team working together, a decent number of people. Add in the fact that most of those who were formerly known as grounders cannot write, even after five years mingling with the remnants of Skaikru in that bunker, and it becomes clear that some of the considerable number plotting her destruction must be those she used to share air with, for the first seventeen years of her life.

Of course, it's also alarming because it's _there_. Because it's big, and ugly, and scrawled all over her _home_ , for goodness' sake, and because she cannot walk in or out of the cottage without seeing it. Or past the cottage. Or across the other side of the village, if she's being honest.

But she's not panicking. Nor despairing. No, not at all. Because she is a fearsome warrior, beloved of some of her people, still, surely, even if she is no longer beloved of these particular re-decorators.

But, for the record, if she were panicking a bit, she reckons that would be understandable, just now.

So it is that she does what she has done in times of crisis for as long as she can remember. She seeks out her brother.

"Bellamy." He's striding about the place as if he has somewhere to be, but surely whatever it is can wait. She is his sister, after all.

"Octavia. Hey." He keeps walking, so she supposes she had better fall into step beside him.

"Have you got a moment?"

"Can we walk and talk? I said to Clarke that I'd get some supper caught before I go see Murphy about the -"

"Sure." She cuts him off smoothly. She's not particularly interested in his schedule of chores. "Did you happen to see the – the writing, on my house?"

"Of course I saw it." He says dismissively, still taking those brisk steps towards heaven only knows where. "Each letter's the size of a child and it's been there all day."

"Right. Yes. Well, what do you think?"

He's staring at her as if she's lost her mind. Well, maybe she has. It's not been the easiest twenty-two years, her life.

"I think someone has decided to write a death threat on your wall."

"Yes. It seems that way. What do you think I should do about it?"

He seems finally to understand, now, she notes, as he stops abruptly and turns towards her.

"I don't know. I'm sorry, but I don't know. You're _Bloodreina_ , I think you need to be the one to figure this out." He pauses a moment, his jaw twitching unhappily. "I _am_ sorry, O. And if there's anything I can actually do to help, you let me know. But they're _your_ people, and I don't know them like you do."

"I don't think I do know them. Not any more." She feels like a child as she struggles to fight down tears.

He takes pity on her at that, just as he always did when she truly was a child. "Do you want to come over for supper? A nice quiet evening with me and Clarke and the kids might take your mind off it."

"Or Clarke might do her thing and help me fix this mess."

"I'm not sure she does that so much, any more, O. But yeah, you'd be very welcome."

That is, she thinks, the first time she has been _welcome_ since she got to this damn valley. And about time, too.

"Thanks, big brother. I'll be there."

…...

Madi loves her mother, of course she does, but she's a bit pissed off with her right now.

She discards that phrase, carefully. Her father would be mortified if he found out she even _thought_ in vocabulary like that.

She loves her mother, but she's a bit _annoyed_ with her right now. That's better. She just cannot for the life of her understand the instruction _you need to make sure you suck at training_. She's been training her whole childhood, for crying out loud, preparing diligently for the moment where she might meet other actual human beings and be able to train together with them. She's learnt how to use a gun, and a spear, and her fists, and she's pretty sure she could even kill a man with a fishhook, if ever there were any actual use in doing so.

So no, thank you, she's not going to bother trying to _suck at training_. No daughter of Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake is ever going to suck at anything, if she has any say in it.

She's particularly keen not to suck at her _first_ training session. She's been feeling so welcomed by all of these friendly folks of Wonkru – which is a little odd, now she comes to think about it, given this was her home first, and they are, in fact, the newcomers – and she's rather liking being liked. So she wants to give it her best shot, this afternoon, when she is allowed to spar with the Wonkru novitiates for the first time.

She wants to impress Gaia, too. She's only known the young woman for a couple of weeks, of course, but she seems so confident and strong-willed, yet somehow also warm and kind, and really, that is everything Madi rather thinks she might like to be, when she grows up. Along with being the perfect child of Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake, of course.

It seems she does have rather a lot on her plate, perhaps.

So, really, it is completely unreasonable of Clarke to have tried to give her an extra thing to worry about by asking her to _suck_ , and she has absolutely no intention of doing so. And anyway, she notes, as she walks into the session and hefts her very-slightly-blunted sword, her mother isn't here. And what she doesn't know, won't hurt her.

…...

Clarke understands the wisdom in this plan of Bellamy's, that they should make it clear to Octavia that they are overtly on her side and have no intention of rebelling, but that doesn't mean she actually likes it. If she's being truly honest with herself, she doesn't like much, since that bunker opened, but she supposes there's nothing to be done about that. She reckons that, after the last five blissful years, she has probably exhausted her lifetime supply of good luck.

That thought sticks with her, as a tyrant whose face is painted with either blood-coloured makeup or _actual_ blood shows up at her door and makes herself at home in her living room. It echoes, perhaps, even louder in her thoughts as that very tyrant asks carefully after Madi's training session, and her precocious girl makes no attempt to pretend that she is not a competent swordswoman. She makes even less of an attempt, Clarke notes with concern, to pretend that she is not wildly popular already with Wonkru, has not already won the love of dozens of these newcomers with her infallible combination of bubbly enthusiasm and impressive talent. They need to do something about this, she frets. Only this afternoon, Gaia took her aside after Madi's first session with the novitiates to say that she is _an exceptional young woman_.

She's not a young woman, Clarke seethes internally. She's a child, and she's her little girl, and she will damn well keep her safe, whatever it takes.

At last, thank goodness, Bellamy announces that the food is ready, and they take their places around the table. This is better, Clarke notes immediately, than the tense chatter of earlier. They exchange polite conversation about the meal, and laugh with only slightly staged cheer at the challenges of convincing Gus to eat his supper.

But then, of course, Octavia ruins it. Clarke is beginning to suspect that, actually, Octavia ruins _everything_.

"I wanted to ask you about the graffiti."

"You did?" Clarke knows she is being unhelpful, that this is not in keeping with Bellamy's plan, but it's a struggle, just now, to appear happy at this change of subject.

"Yes. You're supposed to be good at solving problems, aren't you? What do you think I should do about this?"

Clarke tries very hard not to remember the last time Octavia threw a suggestion like that at her, some years ago, outside a locked door, outside Mount Weather. While Bellamy was, at her bidding, stuck very firmly _inside_.

"I don't know." She says mildly, now. "I suppose you'll want to find out who did it. Round them up, imprison them until you can get your death pit set up again."

For the first time in five years, Bellamy actually kicks her under the table. She doesn't know why he bothered. She can read perfectly well in his expression, in the glare he is sending her way, that he is angry that she has not stuck to the plan and is instead being rude to his sister. But somehow she finds that she cannot really help it, that she is furious with this woman who, despite being family, has somehow managed to ruin her family life with her very presence.

"Wouldn't it be better to find out _why_ they did it?" Madi pipes up, quite uninvited, and Clarke has to resist the temptation to kick her under the table, in turn. "If you know why they want to get rid of you, you can put it right. Reconciliation is always better than revenge. That's what these two taught me, anyway."

Octavia's eyes are narrowed, but she's not got a sword to Madi's throat, so Clarke supposes she had better take that as a win.

"Sorry about this one." Bellamy ruffles his daughter's hair affectionately, wades in with the most staged of jovial smiles. "She's spent a bit too much time in our company, I think."

"Well, big brother, it doesn't seem to have done her any harm."

Clarke waits for Octavia to add a _yet_ to the end of that sentence, but somehow it never comes.

Bellamy, of course, continues down the path of determined good humour, asks after Miller's injured thumb and Kane's less-than-groomed hairstyle. And Octavia seems willing enough to go along with this, to join in his senseless gossip until such time as dinner is eaten and she sets out on her way.

The door closes behind her, at last, and Clarke breathes a sigh of relief.

"I'll get Gus to bed." Madi offers, already taking her little brother by the hand.

"Hang on, Madi." Clarke raises her voice, stops her in her tracks. "I think we need to talk about what you just said, over dinner."

"What did I say?" Her daughter pivots on the spot, turns towards her with a distinctly _teenaged_ expression, Clarke thinks wryly, for all that she is still a couple of months shy of twelve. "Was it that gossip about Echo and Raven?"

"No, Madi, and you know it. Although, while we're on the subject, gossiping about family friends isn't very kind."

"They're not always very kind to me." Madi snaps straight back at her. "So I think I'll keep gossiping."

"Madi. Please, stop." Bellamy's quiet voice cuts through the rising tension. "I think what your mother is trying to say is that she believes we have reason to be worried about you. About what Octavia might do to you, if you have a high profile in the village and she sees you as a threat."

"She can see me as whatever she likes. I am what I am, and I'm not about to pretend to be anything less because it doesn't suit the person in charge. Isn't that what I learnt, from you two?"

They neither of them have any answer to that. Or, at least, Clarke infers so much, from the fact that neither of them make any response to Madi's outburst.

"I'm going to put my brother to bed now." Their daughter states mildly into the ensuing silence. "Goodnight."

She has been gone some moments before Clarke hears Bellamy's voice.

"She's right, you know. That's half the problem. I think we probably did teach her to follow her own convictions regardless of her safety. It might not be what we _meant_ to teach her, but it's happened."

"It seems so."

"We're terrible role models." She seems to remember that she always rather liked the way Bellamy could summon up a desperate joke in desperate times, but this evening, she just finds it infuriating.

"This is not funny, Bellamy. She might _die_."

"Clarke. Sit down, and follow your own advice for a moment. Use your head." He takes a place on the sofa, and gestures to her to do the same. "If Octavia was going to kill her, she'd have done it by now. The rebels are already making it quite clear where they stand, and it's obvious who their preferred candidate is. The very fact that she's still alive, and that O is coming here to ask us what she should do, shows that she wants to fix things, not kill our kids."

"You think so?" She allows herself to hope, just a little.

"I _know_ so. She might have changed in that bunker, Clarke, but she's still my sister. Please, trust me when I say that I understand what's going on here, and that Madi has nothing to fear."

"I do trust you." She murmurs, allowing herself to lean against his shoulder.

"Thank you." He wraps an arm around her, holds her close as he continues to speak calmly. "I told you, didn't I, that Octavia reached out to _me_ this morning, not the other way around? She obviously wants to align herself with us, as much as we want to make it clear we're not revolting against her. And you saw her, when Madi said what she said. She didn't show any sign of anger or violence, did she? She just looked like she was thinking about something."

"Is _that_ what that look was?"

"She's my sister, Clarke. Trust me when I say that's her thoughtful face, not her angry face."

"You've made your point, Bellamy." She says, a little short, but voice warm. "I trust you. You know your sister. All of that."

"Thanks." He presses a kiss to her forehead, takes an audible breath. "Do you want to watch a movie?"

"What?" She cannot quite keep up with this change of subject.

"A movie. You know, moving pictures, accompanying soundtrack. We watched a lot of them before we had children. Well, before we had Gus."

"We still do watch films with the kids." She reminds him, thinking of their monthly Lion King afternoons, and the frequent other cartoons.

"But I was thinking that perhaps we could watch something, just the two of us." He sounds nervous, now, she thinks, and somehow that makes her fall in love with him all over again. "I know that it's getting late, and that we have things to do tomorrow, and the kids to look after but – I thought it might be nice to watch a film together."

"That sounds lovely." She assures him warmly because, really, it does. "It's been too long since we had a date night."

"Right." He rushes to agree with her. "And I figure if ever there was a time you needed a quiet date night, maybe today would be it."

"You might be right." She acknowledges, giving his thigh an affectionate squeeze. "Does that mean I get to choose the movie?"

"Go on." He chuckles. "I know you'll only complain if I choose, no matter what I go for."

"You know me too well." She agrees, and fires up the TV. It has served them well, she thinks, this old Earth relic that has lasted the duration of their relationship and still shows no sign of giving up on them. And if ever it does start to waver – well, then. Raven will simply have to fix it. Eden would fall, if the Griffin-Blake family couldn't have their movie nights together.

She selects _Pride and Prejudice_ , of course, in part because it is actually one of her favourite films, but largely because it is one of her favourite _movie nights_. There is a distinct difference, there, she thinks, in that much of her love of this particular work of cinema stems from her memories of watching it with Bellamy all those years ago.

On this occasion, then, as she presses play, she curls up on the sofa with her head in his lap. And sure enough Bellamy takes the hint, and rests one hand on her waist, and strokes her hair a little with the other, and starts whispering some adorably sentimental nonsense about how this film is part of their _love story_ , and it is, without doubt, the most relaxed she has felt in days.

So relaxed, in fact, that before she quite realises it is happening, her eyes are drifting closed. And the next thing she knows, the credits are rolling, and she is being scooped up into a familiar pair of sturdy arms, and carried towards the bedroom.

"You can put me down." She murmurs drowsily against his chest. "I'm awake now. I can walk."

He doesn't answer that, just tightens his hold on her. "Why does one of us always fall asleep whenever we watch that film?"

She doesn't answer that, just loosens her hold on consciousness, and drifts back into sleep once more.


	12. Chapter twelve

Miller finds his unquestioning loyalty being questioned rather often, as the days pass, and the simmering bitterness Wonkru are feeling towards Octavia threatens to boil over. He finds it more frustrating than anything, really. This was supposed to be their happy ending, and he was supposed to get on with living a long and loving life with Eric. And some people do seem to have got the memo about that happy ending, he concedes. Bellamy is on visibly better terms with his sister, these days, and even Clarke gives a grudging smile, sometimes, when Octavia is interacting with her nephew and niece.

But, clearly, someone has forgotten to tell Wonkru that they are happy. Nate saw that graffiti, the other week, of course, and brushed aside those who asked whether it was anything to do with him. And he found himself tasked with clearing up the broken glass from that brick that some idiot lobbed through his leader's window only yesterday, and ignored those who questioned whether, perhaps, he had as much reason to hate Bloodreina as anyone.

He rather wonders what will be asked of him today.

With that less than cheery thought, he sets out towards Octavia's house, ready for another endless day of standing guard over the young woman who is, apparently, the most hated tyrant on Earth.

He is stopped, rather abruptly, by a hand over his mouth and an arm around his waist, and before he has chance to kick his attacker's feet out from under them, he is in a dark corner of the village, surrounded by eight fearsome warriors.

"What's this?" He asks, wary, eyeing up the woman who has essentially kidnapped him. He was friends with Marya, he seems to remember, back in that bunker. They had fitness scheduled for the same time.

"We need to know whether you're with us." She mutters, eyes darting to something behind his head.

He resists, carefully, the temptation to turn and follow her gaze. "With you how?"

"Taking down the tyrant, of course. Installing that young _natblida_ in her place. Fairer working conditions, better housing. No more fighting pit."

He resists the urge to point out that the fighting pit has been long since scrapped. He suspects, based on the mood they seem to be in, that they would find a reason to object to that, too, somehow.

"I'm a loyal soldier." He states carefully.

"It's time to be loyal to your people." Marya tells him, casually rotating a knife in her fingers. "It's time to stand up for what's right."

This is madness. It is complete and utter madness. These people are not _standing up for what's right_ , they're just disgruntled and looking for a scapegoat. And have found, conveniently, a girl they think will be their saviour.

He remembers, all too well, when Octavia was the girl they thought would be their saviour.

Madness it may be, but madness wielding a knife seems like quite a dangerous concept. And it is clear, as Marya points the tip in the general direction of his throat, that the knife will be used, if it has to be.

"He's a nice guy, that doctor of yours." She gestures towards his home with the hilt of her knife. "Would be a shame if – I don't know – his face got messed up."

Yes, that's done it.

"I'm in." He lies smoothly, attempting to adopt an expression of revolutionary fervour. "I'll do whatever you need me to do, but you leave him out of it."

…...

Echo doesn't know Nathan Miller well, of course. They have spent precious little time in the same actual location. But she lived for five years with people who think the world of him, and who were only too keen to share stories of him at every opportunity. And in those stories, he was strong, and brave, with a pretty sound moral compass. Loyal, too, and well-respected.

In none of those stories was he crouching behind a trash heap pretending not to cry.

"Miller?" She supposes Raven would probably want her to help out her old friend.

"Echo." He bolts into a standing position, arranges his features into a slightly more soldierly orientation. "Hey. What can I help you with?"

"You can tell me what you're doing here."

"Nothing. Nothing much. Just – ah – thinking."

"Thinking about the fact that someone wants your leader dead?" She takes a guess. It seems likely that this problem might be on his mind, just now.

"Yeah." He looks at her consideringly. "Yeah, they do. And – and I think they just blackmailed me into helping them. They've got something big planned, any day now from what they were saying."

Well, now. That all makes rather a lot of sense. If only he'd just started with that, she muses, rather than wasting that time trying to throw her off.

"Right. Well, then. Get yourself to Bellamy and Clarke's. I take it that Jackson was the subject of the threats? Take him, too. I'll get Raven."

"What? What are we doing?" Has he lost his mind?

"Fixing this, of course."

Without bothering to check whether he's following her instructions – after all, following orders is something he has a good track record for - she marches off in the direction of the home she shares with Raven. It's still early, so she hopes she has not missed her, hopes she has not already set out to her appointed tasks for the day.

"Raven?" She calls out as she opens the door.

"Hey." She appears in the sitting room, smile bright. "Didn't expect to see you again so soon."

"No." That smile dies at her firm tone, and Echo slightly hates herself for ruining Raven's good mood. "Sorry, but we have to go to Clarke and Bellamy's. This rebellion – I think it's reaching tipping point."

"Sure. OK." Raven grabs her jacket without question. "Let's go. You can fill me in on the way."

She does so, and they stop to fetch the rest of Spacekru, too. There can never be too many folks on their side, she thinks, in a situation like this. They discuss the question of fetching Kane and Abby, too, but decide against it. Abby is still something of a liability, Raven feels, with her addiction, and Echo has enough experience of life in a tumultuous court to know that someone who was in the pit for crimes against Wonkru only weeks ago is not the best addition to their peacekeeping force.

They arrive at Bellamy and Clarke's, and find that Miller and Jackson are already there. Based on the look on Clarke's face, as she juggles holding Gus and running this emergency meeting, Echo is pretty sure that the situation has already been explained in some detail.

"Good decision, Echo." It is, she thinks, the first compliment Wanheda has ever paid her. "From what Miller has told us, the rebels are on the verge of acting."

"Never mind that." Monty speaks up. "We need to keep Jackson and Miller safe, before we worry about anything else."

"They can move in with us." Murphy offers.

There is, for a heartbeat, complete silence, despite the urgency of the situation. And then, of course, it is Raven who breaks it.

"With _you_?"

"Yeah." Murphy shrugs, and it is apparent that he is feeling painfully self-conscious at this unexpectedly kind gesture. "We have loads of space, and we're both pretty handy in a fight. Between the four of us, we'll be able to keep each other safe."

Another heartbeat of complete silence.

"Thank you." It is Jackson who speaks next. "That's very kind of you, and I think it would be best if we take you up on that."

Murphy nods, once, and Emori gives a warm smile.

"That's that dealt with." Clarke is, of course, keen to move the conversation on. "But what are we doing about the bigger picture? Bellamy, do you think Octavia knows how serious this has become?"

"Yes." He states simply. "She's not stupid. And the graffiti was hard to miss."

"OK. Do you think she should be here now, as well? Do you think we should -?"

She breaks off abruptly, presumably aware that no one is listening to her, Echo thinks. They are all a bit preoccupied with listening to the fight breaking out around the cottage next door.

…...

Madi cannot remember ever being happier than she is just now. She has loving parents and an adorable brother – although she's had those for a while, of course. Those space friends of her parents' are starting to warm up to her a little, and Raven even taught her how to solder, yesterday. And best of all, she has all these new Wonkru friends. There are so many of them that it all gets a bit overwhelming, recently. Old folks who come to her fishing classes, and tell her that she must make her parents very proud. The novitiates she trains with, who noticed pretty early on that she's damn good with a sword, and made it their business to befriend her and seek her opinion on everything, from a new fighting move to their choice of hairstyle.

She's never been popular, before, and she can see how it would be easy to let this go to her head.

She makes her joyful way to the space that has been adopted as a training ground, on the edge of the clearing, her home still just about in sight. She runs through her warm up, laughs a little at one of Ethan's bad jokes.

Then she stops laughing, when she hears the screams.

She spares a moment to look to her friend, and the terror in his eyes confirms her worst fears. She is not imagining things, and the calls of _no Bloodreina no more_ really are coming from the direction of her family home.

She drops her precious training sword in the dust, and starts running, loosely aware of Ethan at her side.

She sighs in relief when she arrives at the village and realises that it is not _her_ home that the crowd are converging on. No, they are converging on the cottage next door, and more particularly on a small, dark-haired figure who has made it scarcely five metres from her own front door.

Her aunt Octavia.

Madi screams a little and, of course, runs straight into the fray. She is a Griffin-Blake, after all. She can make out some familiar faces now, thank goodness, her parents trying to calm things down, Miller and Murphy trying to pull people away from Octavia. She fights her way closer still, reaching out towards her aunt, yelling at anyone who will listen to get out of her way.

She doesn't stop to notice that they do.

Finally, she is there, and Octavia is crouching at her feet, over the motionless body of a Wonkru warrior who might, she thinks, be called Tomas. And her parents are there, too, telling her to stop being so reckless, and Ethan is looking at her like she might be a bit of a hero.

And somehow, it seems, the crowd has thinned around them.

…...

Octavia doesn't mind admitting that she's scared. That wasn't just a few people who turned on her this morning – no, that was several _hundred_ people, coordinated by goodness only knows whom, converging on her home to rip her to shreds. And so it is that, for the remainder of the day, she has sat curled in her living room while her dozen last remaining faithful guards stand and protect her from the world outside.

Thank goodness for her friends and family, who came to her rescue even though she knows they owe her precious little, these days. Thank goodness for Madi, commanding enough respect for her blood that, at her bidding, that crowd somehow scattered. Thank goodness for Miller, taking a knife to the shoulder in the cause of keeping her safe.

Thank goodness for Tomas, who ended up giving his life for her.

She can't let that happen again. She mustn't. Heaven knows, she's been growing tired of leadership for a while now, has been finding that this particular crown lies increasingly heavy. But today is the final straw.

She doesn't want to be in charge here, any more.

And with that, really, the solution becomes simple. It's a straightforward plan, this plan that has sprung into her mind, but she supposes it is in some ways a bold one. And it's not one her brother is going to like. Not at all.

And as for Clarke? Well. She will hate it.


	13. Chapter thirteen

Octavia doesn't hesitate. As soon as she has formed her plan, she sends for Bellamy. And, thank goodness, he does not keep her waiting, either, and by the time he arrives and they start their discussion, it is only evening on that frightening day that saw Tomas give his life for her safety.

She pushes that thought firmly aside, and gets on with setting out her plan to her brother.

"I think I've worked it out, Bell. There's no way I can win them back from here. What we need is a new leader, and much as _we_ might like the idea of a democracy, the former grounders will only respect absolute rule by kind-of-divine right."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Madi takes the flame -"

"No. Absolutely not." He cuts her off before she has had chance to explain even a tenth of her plan. "You want my eleven-year-old daughter to put that thing in her head? No."

"She'll be twelve by the time we hand over power." Octavia points out calmly. "People have taken it younger than that before now."

"Yeah, and died bloody deaths not long afterwards." She has to admit, this conversation seems to be going even worse than she expected.

"We're at peace now."

"And how long do you expect that peace to last with a twelve-year-old in charge?" Bellamy is looking at her as if she has lost her mind. "I love her, and I think she's brilliant, but she's no match for a thousand seasoned warriors."

"She won't really be in charge, Bellamy." Octavia knows she sounds annoyed, but she would have explained this earlier if he would only listen. "She'll be a figurehead to unite Wonkru behind the flame. An elected council will really be in charge, probably you and Clarke and Indra and Kane."

"Oh." Bellamy's anger melts abruptly at that. "I see."

"I've thought it through, and it's our only choice." She informs him, trying not to sound too condescending. "The only way to get Wonkru to fall in line is to have them led by a strong personality they respect, who has won a conclave or has nightblood. Or both. Now I'm guessing you're against a conclave, seeing as it would consist entirely of members of your immediate family."

"Yeah, not really a fan of that idea." He no longer looks angry, but he looks far from happy.

"So there we go, then." She sits back in her chair, waits for him to admit defeat. No, that's not quite right. Defeat implies that this is a _bad_ thing, and she can't let him think like that.

"So she'll have a council?" Bellamy repeats, brows furrowed. "She won't actually have to do anything dangerous?"

"She won't actually have to do anything at all."

"You know Clarke is never going to go for this." This is, of course, the moment that Octavia knows she has convinced him, but she keeps a cautious expression pasted onto her face out of politeness. "She's seen what the flame does, and how people get caught in the crossfire."

"That, big brother, is why you're going to be the one to suggest it to her."

…...

Bellamy doesn't know why he's doing this.

No, that's not true. He _does_ know why he's doing this, that's the problem. He's doing this because he thinks it's probably the only way to stop what remains of the human race from wiping each other out in a stupid squabble over power.

But Bellamy doesn't _want_ to be doing this.

If he walks back into his living room, that evening, with the air of a man going to his death, that's because he isn't entirely sure he will survive this. There is a decent chance, he suspects, of Clarke lynching him for even suggesting that Madi takes the flame. And if she doesn't, he expects that this conversation might at the very least ruin their relationship, and he's not sure he can survive without her, any more.

But he doesn't think he has a choice.

She's sitting on the sofa when he enters, a sketchbook across her knees, a face that is unmistakably his own springing into life on the page before her. And he wants so badly to freeze this moment, this beautiful woman with whom he lives a beautiful life, smiling softly at him as he enters the room.

But the real world is out there, knocking at the door.

"What did your sister want?"

"She has an idea. For how to stop the unrest. And I want you to know that we've talked it over, and I wouldn't be suggesting it if I didn't think it was the only choice. So, yeah, I'm only suggesting this because – because we're agreed that it's the only way forward."

The look she is giving him is already somewhat scared, he notes, as he lowers himself onto the sofa by her side.

"So in this plan, decisions are made by an elected council. It would likely consist of us two, and Kane, Indra, people like that. People we trust and respect." Perhaps he is laying it on too thick, he wonders, but he wants to make the good points particularly clear before he progresses to the bad.

"OK." She says it as if it is a question.

"In order to unite Wonkru, there would be demand for a single leader according to their tradition. You're familiar with that, of course. Nightblood, a conclave, the flame."

"Don't patronise me." She bites out, and he suspects from her tone that she has already put the pieces together.

"Madi would take the flame."

"No."

"She'd be leader in name only, remember, because of the elected -"

"No."

"-council, so she wouldn't -"

"No."

"-be in any danger, or have any real decisions -"

"I said no, Bellamy. Why are we even still having this conversation?"

"Because it's the only choice, Clarke. Please, think about it logically."

"No. You do not get to do that. You do not get to offer my daughter up as some kind of sick sacrifice to the mob, then justify it by using my own words against me."

" _Our_ daughter, Clarke." He hopes his voice sounds soothing, but based on the fury in her eyes he hopes in vain. "I wouldn't be suggesting this unless I thought it was safe. This way, Eden is ruled in effect by a democracy, and O gets to step down and live in peace, and -"

"So that's it, then? Your sister's tired of cleaning up the mess _she_ made, so my little girl has to put her life on the line?"

She really does seem to have forgotten that Madi is his daughter, too, he notes.

"No, Clarke. There's more to it than that."

"Really. Care to explain what I'm missing?"

She stares him down, and in that moment, he cannot find any more words.

"No. Thought not." She gets to her feet abruptly, sketchbook sliding to the floor. It lands awkwardly, that sketch of his face crumpling beneath the weight of the other pages.

Then she stands on it, and that hardly helps.

"I can't believe you'd even _dare_ have this conversation with me." She bites out, burning with anger. "You know better than anyone how much I hate the idea of someone I love having that thing in their brain. You know how – how much I've lost, because of the flame. And I refuse to let you put it in Madi."

"Clarke, please. Just sit down and let's talk -"

"No." It is abrupt, and it is final, and is accompanied by her stomping towards the door. "There is _nothing_ to talk about. Now if you'll excuse me -"

"Wait, Clarke. Where are you going?"

"I don't know." She bites out. "I guess I'll go sleep at my mother's. That'll be fun. I get to choose between a drug addict or a man who'd willingly put his own daughter's life in danger."

"Clarke, you don't have to leave." He knew she would be angry, but this development has taken him by surprise. "I'll go, if you need some space. I can go to my sister's and we -"

"I am getting out of this house." She informs him, barging the front door open as he trails behind her in something of a panic. "And you had better not follow me."

With that, she disappears into the night.

He stands there, on his own doorstep, for a good thirty seconds before he realises he is crying. It's damn inconvenient, but as he watches her retreating back he finds himself assaulted by an onslaught of memories of this precious doorstep of their precious home, and ends up dwelling longer than can possibly be good for his sanity on the thought of that first night they lived here, when he sat in this very spot and ate the dinner she had cooked for him, and shared her warmth while he mourned the loss of dozens of strangers.

Today, it seems, he is mourning the loss, instead, of the relationship that means so much to him.

He dashes aside a few tears, but it seems a bit pointless, really. There are more to replace them. And there are more thoughts, too, to replace those memories of this damn doorstep, thoughts about whether she will ever come back, and whether he will have to make this impossible choice about the flame alone, and thoughts about how much he loves her, and how much she is gone.

It takes him longer than it should to realise he's not alone.

"Dad?" He spares a moment to be surprised, because his daughter does not often refer to him quite like that. She must be concerned about him, he figures. He observes too that Madi has taken his elbow, and is trying to draw him back into the house. "Come back inside. Come on."

"I – I don't think I can." He stares at the place where Clarke vanished into the darkness, hoping that perhaps she will suddenly reappear.

"I think you have to." His daughter says quietly, urging him across the threshold and closing the door behind them. "Do you want to sit down and talk about it?"

He looks up abruptly at that, and meets her eyes. "Talk about what?"

"I heard." She says simply. "You weren't being very quiet."

"I'm so sorry, Madi. We didn't mean to upset you -"

"Stop it, Bellamy. I'm not such a small child any more. There's no point hiding this from me. If I'm ready to take the flame, I think I'm ready to cope with my parents having a blazing row about it."

They have, by now, made it back to the sofa, and Madi carefully picks up Clarke's discarded sketchbook and sets it down on a table.

"I'm going to do it." She informs him conversationally, as if this is a matter of no great importance.

"What?"

"I'm going to take the flame. You're right, it's the best solution. And I'll be taking it of my own free will, so Clarke won't be able to stay mad at you for long."

"I'm not sure it's as simple as that."

"She'll come round."

He sighs heavily at that, thoroughly convinced, in this moment, that nothing could be further from the truth. He rubs a palm across his tired eyes, allows his head to sink into his hands.

"I love your mother." He mutters, scarcely loud enough for Madi to hear. "But I love the human race more."

She laughs at that, an incongruously carefree sound.

"I'm not sure that's true, you know. Didn't she once think she had to shoot you to save the human race? And she couldn't do that. And that was before you even properly got together. Are you saying that she loved you more, back then, than you love her even now?"

"Madi, I'm not really sure this is a time for teasing." He raises his head with considerable difficulty, attempts to adopt a paternal glare.

"I'm not really sure it's a time for sitting around moping." She says pointedly. "The decision's been made. I'm going to go tell Octavia first thing tomorrow that I'm doing it. You need to come up with a plan for how you're going to talk Clarke back round, and then you need to get some sleep."

"You sound more and more like Lexa every day." He tells her, feeling the ghost of a smile about his lips, as he thinks of the stories Clarke has told him of the woman she loved. "Are you sure you've not already got that chip in your brain?"

"Not yet, no." She tells him with a grin. "This is just my adolescent rebellion phase."

He laughs at that, slightly begrudging himself the joy, and sends her back to bed with a hug.

It is beyond stupid, he cannot help but feel, to take seriously the advice of his eleven-year-old daughter, but he does so all the same. He sits on the sofa, and stares at that sketch of his smiling face, and attempts to come up with some perfectly wonderful plan that will convince the woman he loves that he has not just betrayed her and everything and everyone she cares about.

He doesn't get very far. He plans no magic words, and no romantic gestures. And by the time he goes to bed, some hours later, he is no closer to knowing how he will fix this.

No, that's not quite true. He is _barely_ closer to knowing how he will fix this. He has achieved one thing, and one thing only.

On the living room table sits a chess set, perfectly laid out, ready for a game.


	14. Chapter fourteen

Raven is surprised enough when Clarke appears at the workshop at the crack of dawn, and loiters for ten minutes for no apparent reason before vanishing back into the morning light.

She is even more surprised when Clarke reappears two hours later, the same restless expression on her face, with the same complete lack of explanation for her presence.

"Really, though, Clarke. Why are you here?"

"I told you, I wanted to see how you're getting on with -"

"No. Not buying it. Try again."

"I guess I'm just worried about this... instability. Do you think it will die down?"

Raven knows that she is looking at her friend as if she has lost her mind. This is, in fact, because she rather thinks she must have done. She can see no other reason for a woman as astute as Clarke Griffin to be asking such an imbecilic question.

"It's obviously not going to just _die down_ , Clarke. You were there at that meeting Echo called yesterday? And you did see that fight break out? In which someone got _killed_?"

"People die a lot on the ground." Clarke mutters, with a coldness that Raven cannot quite make sense of.

"Yeah, in wars. Which start out as stupid power struggles like this one." She points out, wondering what on Earth can possibly be afoot, here.

"You think it's that serious?"

"You're the one who told me yesterday afternoon that you think this could decimate the remains of the human race if it gets much further out of hand. We were lucky there was only one death, when you look at the number of serious injuries. And the problem's not going anywhere."

"I don't know about that." Clarke seems suddenly furious, and Raven cannot for the life of her see why. "Octavia has a plan."

"She does?" She cannot see why Clarke thinks this is such bad news.

"Of course she does. She's always got a plan to save her own skin, that -"

Clarke breaks off abruptly, with a panicked expression, as she takes in something through the window. Raven swivels in her chair, wondering quite what could have provoked this reaction, but sees only Bellamy approaching the workshop with an anxious look on his face.

By the time she turns back around, Clarke has vanished, and the only trace of her presence is the sound of the back door slamming behind her.

"Bellamy?" Raven gets to her feet, goes to welcome her old friend into the room. "What's going on?"

"Have you seen Clarke?" He asks, visibly panicking. "Please tell me you've seen her."

"She was just here." Raven puts a steadying hand on his elbow, gestures to the seat Clarke has so recently vacated. He does not choose to take it. "You need to tell me what all this is about, Bellamy. She ran away out the other door when she saw you coming. That – that seems like an unusual reaction to your partner's arrival."

"Did she tell you what happened?" He asks, sinking at last into that seat with a resigned sigh.

"No. She wouldn't tell me a thing."

"We had an argument." He explains, and she tries very hard not to laugh. No shit, Sherlock. An argument.

"I see."

"I don't know whether to go after her." He groans mournfully. "She told me last night not to go after her, but now it's this morning and she's obviously still avoiding me and I don't know what to do."

She finds that temptation to laugh vanishing abruptly. "This has been going on since _last night_?"

"Yeah."

"I think you had better start at the beginning."

She does not do a good job of keeping the shock from showing on her face as Bellamy explains. This much she knows. To be fair, the story is a shocking one on a number of levels. It is shocking that Octavia would insist upon this, sure. And it is shocking that Bellamy should agree to it with apparent ease. But it is at least as shocking, Raven thinks, that Clarke Griffin, champion of impossible choices, should find herself so blinded by emotion as not to realise that, actually, this is the best solution to the problem with which they are struggling.

But the most shocking thing of all, she decides easily, is the wedge this has driven between Clarke and Bellamy. She doesn't like watching Bellamy sit in the middle of the workshop and weep, really. It's not exactly a comfortable experience.

When the tale is told, she leans against the door frame and tries to adopt a calm expression.

"It sounds like you know the answer, Bellamy. Everyone thinks this is the only good solution except Clarke. So you're just going to have to do it. And accept that she's going to be angry with you."

"I'm not sure I can accept that."

"You don't have much choice."

He laughs at that, a hollow sound. "Story of my life."

She smiles as best as she can. "I'd like to say she'll come around but – but I think it might take her a while."

"Yeah."

"I'd stop chasing after her, Bellamy. You know Clarke. She likes to run away when she's upset. You remember after Mount Weather."

"Of course I do." He snaps, looking about ready to hit something. "Of course I _know Clarke_. But – but she doesn't like to run away so much these days. Or, at least – I thought she liked it when I follow her. When I go with her to figure it out. It's a long time since she last got so upset that she left me behind."

Raven feels herself tear up at that, too, at that painful mixture of proof that she does not know her old friend so well, now, after five years apart, and at the emotion on Bellamy's face as he grapples with this impossible situation. She takes a deep breath, tries to reign in her own feelings. She will do neither of them – nor the human race – any good, if she falls apart now.

"I'd go home, Bellamy." She recommends gently. "Go back to your children. It'll do you good to spend some time with them. Clarke will be back when she's ready, you know that. And – and if I see her again, I'll check she's doing OK for you."

"Thanks." He mutters, rubbing almost angrily at his eyes. "Let me – let me know how she's doing. And – and if you get the chance, could you tell her I'm sorry for hurting her?"

"Of course."

He nods once, briskly, and stands, and marches out the door. And Raven abandons her task without regret, and follows not far behind, off in search of Echo.

All of this drama has made her rather in need of Echo's particular kind of hug, she thinks.

…...

Madi is growing fed up of sitting at home with her father and brother, amidst tension so thick she thinks that they might yet all drown in it, if Clarke never comes home. At least that would save them all from the next shouting match, she finds herself concluding with no small amount of annoyance. She cannot for the life of her work out why these two people she loves so much are being so frankly dense about this situation. All it would have taken, she suspects, for this to work out so much more smoothly, is for Octavia and Bellamy to involve Clarke in the plan from the beginning, and for Clarke to take a few deep breaths before losing her temper.

And yet, of course, that is not what happened, so here she sits, reading some incongruously cheerful fairy tale to her little brother and waiting for Bellamy to stop pacing.

"I'm going for a walk." She announces, when she can bear it no longer.

"No, Madi. It – it might not be safe out there, with the rebels."

She snorts at her father's misplaced concern. "Isn't the whole point of this flame plan that I'm the one person they wouldn't hurt?"

"Please." He sounds utterly desperate. "Your mother will _never_ forgive me if something happens to you now."

She doesn't point out that, based on the way Clarke has avoided Bellamy all morning, she doesn't think his odds are that great even if nothing happens to her. She doesn't point out, either, that she'll be perfectly safe, nor that she will be back within the hour.

She doesn't point out anything. She just stands up and leaves. She highly doubts her distraught father has the energy to bother chasing after her, just now.

She sets out on a harmless stroll around the perimeter of the village, on the edge of the tree line, letting the familiar noises of the forest soothe her. It has not been a pleasant sixteen hours or so, and she is rather in need of a little calmness. In fact, she thinks, surely it wouldn't hurt if she wandered just a little further into the woods? She knows the area well, and she'd be in no danger, and she really would -

A hand closes over her mouth, and she finds herself being dragged unceremoniously into a holly thicket, the thorns catching at her sleeves as she goes.

"Listen, Madi." She jumps in shock, then, not at being captured, but at the fact that it is her own _mother_ doing the capturing. "We have to get you out of here. I've got you a pack, and we'll go -"

She makes light work of flipping Clarke over her shoulder and throwing her to the floor. And, well, it's good practice, as a future commander, to keep a knife in her belt, so it is the work of a moment to kneel on her mother's shoulders and hold the blade at her throat. All in all, it seems that training with the Wonkru novitiates has served her well.

"Madi." Clarke is still, somehow, talking at her. "You don't understand. You're in danger, and we need to get going. Let me up and let's get out of here while we -"

"Clarke." She cuts her off abruptly. "You're my mother, and I love you. But you need to stop talking. I'm not going to run away with you."

"Please, Madi." This normally awe-inspiring woman is panting with panic, and it's not a pleasant sight. "I'm scared for you. You've seen what they're like, these people, they'll kill anyone they don't like, and the flame – people die when that thing gets involved."

"Mum, please. I don't want to argue with you about this. There's – there's been enough arguing, recently, already."

Clarke looks away at that, slides her gaze over her left shoulder.

"I'm going to let you up now but – but no more talk about running away. Please. Please can we just talk about it?"

She pulls the knife back just far enough for Clarke to give a cold nod, then shifts her weight and stands. She has never faced down her own mother like this, brandishing a knife and narrowing her eyes, and she hates it. She hates it so damn much that she just wants a moment to be a child and cry.

But she can't be a child, right now. Because she needs to show her mother she's ready to be the commander.

"I'm scared for you, Madi." Clarke gives a helpless shrug, tears tracking down her cheeks. "I'm just so scared. And I'm so angry with Bellamy for even suggesting it -"

"He didn't _suggest_ it, Clarke. He _agreed_ to it, because he thought there was no choice. I thought forgiving each other for making impossible decisions was supposed to be what you two do?"

"I thought it was, too." Clarke says sadly. "But this time, I'm not sure. I just – why did he not even _speak_ to me about it, before he decided to do it? Does he not understand how – how furious that would make me?"

"Trust me, he understands that you're furious."

Clarke chooses to ignore that, continues with her agenda instead, and Madi sort of wants to shake some sense into her. "It's ridiculous, the idea of a kid being put in power like that."

"I'm going to do it anyway. It's not as if I will actually hold any power. And – I know I'm only a child, Clarke, but I'm old enough to know I want to do this. And I want you to understand that I'm doing this _willingly_ , OK? That I'm not being pressured by Bellamy or Octavia."

"It doesn't matter. You're a child. Legally speaking, your parents should be making decisions with your best interests at heart on your behalf until you're eighteen. And this is definitely not in your best interests."

"We're not on the Ark any more, Mum. I'm pretty sure the law took a blow the moment they sent a bunch of kids down here to start a war. I'm ready for this and – and I think part of the reason you're so upset is that you know I am." She doesn't deny it, Madi observes. "So _I'm_ going to do this, and you had better leave my father out of it."

She scoffs at that, but Madi thinks it's probably just a vain effort to disguise her tears. "That's a stupid request, Madi. He's your _father_. How am I supposed to leave him out of it? And why are you so keen to stick up for him anyway?"

"Because he loves you!" She cries, throwing her hands to the sky in despair at her mother's want of understanding. "Because he loves both of us, and would do anything to protect us, and because he's been an absolute wreck since you stormed out last night."

"Good for him." Clarke bites out, and Madi resists the urge to throttle her. She wonders if all adolescent rebellion phases are this challenging.

"Please will you come home?" She asks, aware that she's begging, but really pretty desperate for the pair of them to stop driving each other to the brink of sanity over this. Desperate for those two wonderful parents she has always respected so much to come back to her. "Just for long enough to talk it out with him, at least? He won't stop crying, Mum, and I'm worried about him. And I'm worried about you, too and - and you always did say you're better together."

At last, it seems, with that, there is some softening of her mother's anger, as she sags against a nearby tree and wipes at her face with her sleeve.

"Could you tell him – tell him I won't stop him." Clarke says with a sigh. "If I'm the only person in the world who doesn't think this is the right thing to do then – then I guess it's going to happen, isn't it?"

She doesn't like to see her strong mother so defeated, so broken, but she thinks this is as close as she's going to get to a victory, today.

"I think so."

"I'm going on a walk, Madi. I need to get away from here for a while. If it means so much to you, I'll speak to your father when I get back."

"How long are you going to be gone this time? Three months again?" She knows the question is a cruel one, knows it is rendered only more cruel by the tone of her voice, but she's fed up with this woman she admires so much running away from this one problem. And she has to admit, too, that she's scared that the answer might actually be three months.

"I'll be back this evening." She must still look sceptical, because her mother steps towards her with an earnest expression. "I promise. This evening."

She pulls her into a quick hug and walks into the trees.


	15. Chapter 15

Clarke walks until her feet hurt more than her heart does. It takes a while. And, yeah, she's aware that she said she'd be back that evening, but she's not sorry to be stretching the definition of evening by the time she gets back to the house several hours after dark. She reckons that being a little late home is not the worst betrayal anyone has committed in this family of late. She opens the door quietly, rather expecting Bellamy and the children to be asleep, and sets about removing her boots.

Then she realises that she was only two thirds right. Bellamy is very much still awake, pacing the living room so heavily she thinks he might well wear holes in the floor.

She peeks around the doorframe, and he stops dead in his tracks.

"Clarke." He rushes towards her, then remembers that she's furious with him. Stops a couple of metres out and flaps his hands hopelessly in midair. "Thank God. I was so worried – I thought maybe you'd had an accident out there or something."

"I'm fine." She tells him. Physically, at least, it is not so far from the truth. She has survived worse than sore feet, before now.

"Good." He can barely conceal his relief, and she finds herself almost hating him even more for being so sweetly concerned for her welfare. This would all be much easier, she seethes, if he were a heartless monster.

"How are the kids?"

"They missed you." He says, swallowing thickly. "They're sleeping now."

She nods. She's not entirely sure what she's nodding at, but she supposes she ought to acknowledge his words.

"I guess you want to talk." She offers, not really looking forward to the prospect, as she steps across the threshold of the living room.

"We – we can if you want. But I wondered if maybe you just wanted to sit and play chess." He murmurs, with a gesture towards the table.

She stops walking, feels the Earth tilt beneath her somewhat. She's being silly, she chastises herself. It is only a board game. But – but somehow it is _their_ board game, and it is the thing that brought them back together again the last time she was anywhere near this upset with him, and it is there, now, on the table, set up and waiting, for all the world as if they planned this appointment as a _date_ , and not as an opportunity to hash out an argument.

She doesn't say a word. She's not sure she can, just now. She takes a seat, and moves a piece forward almost at random. And Bellamy follows her lead, and sits down opposite her, and responds to her move with scarcely more thought. She suspects that this will not be the most skilful game of chess the two of them ever play, but she has an inkling that it may well turn out to be the most important.

Neither of them speaks, for a long time. And she is on the point of doing so, of starting perhaps with something along the lines of a simple _how could you_ , has opened her mouth and inhaled, when he beats her to it.

"I love you." His voice is trembling, but all the same, the words fall on her ears with substantial impact. "I just – I need you to know that, before you tell me all the reasons why you don't love me right now. I didn't do this to hurt you, Clarke, or to hurt Madi. You're both too important to me."

She moves a knight, bites her knuckle a little. Wonders what to do next, regarding both the game and the conversation.

"I love you, too." She admits, at last, crushing a recently taken bishop in her fist until it leaves a mark in the skin of her palm. "That's why I'm so hurt, Bellamy. I don't expect the person I love to do this to me. You're supposed to _protect_ our children, not put them in harm's way. And without even telling me, too. I can't believe -"

She forces herself to break off that chain of thought there, reminds herself that she is here to talk, not yell. Moves her queen to nowhere in particular, and barely spares a thought to wonder whether it might have been a poor choice.

"I _was_ trying to protect them." He mutters, dropping a piece and focusing rather too carefully on picking it back up again. "You've seen the lengths these rebels are prepared to go to, Clarke. How long until they kidnap her and put her on the throne by force, or something like that? Or even try to take the baby? At least this way we're in control of the situation. I was going to ask her to make me her chief bodyguard, obviously, but I never got to explain any of this because -"

"Because I overreacted." She concludes the sentence for him with no small measure of biting sarcasm. "Because I caused a scene. Because I was struggling, just a bit, to sit around and think calmly when this is our _daughter_ we are talking about."

"Because I screwed up." He murmurs quietly, instead. "Because I went about this all wrong and made you feel like I was plotting with my sister behind your back. Because I didn't start by explaining to you how we could protect them, or asking what you thought."

She lets that sit for a moment, takes it for the apology it is. Loses her queen but decides that's probably not exactly her priority just now.

"I never thought about it like that. I never thought about how we could protect them better this way." She acknowledges quietly. "You might be right."

They exchange a couple more moves in silence, as she works up the courage to get to the heart of the argument.

"I think you're right about a lot of it. I have to admit that I don't see a better choice. I just – it's _Madi_ , Bellamy. Our little girl."

"I know." He soothes, reaching out a hand towards her.

He stops half way, of course, remembers that she hasn't forgiven him yet. Retracts his hand slowly, and makes no attempt to hide the tears that start to fill his eyes at the necessity of that action.

"The thing that hurt most was the way you went about it. Planning it with your sister like that, then presenting it to me as if I was supposed to just agree with it."

"I didn't think you'd just agree with it. I thought you'd probably never speak to me again. But I didn't know what else to do. If – if I could take it back, and tell Octavia I wouldn't even consider discussing anything to do with Madi without you there, of course I would."

She nods, once, in acknowledgement of that, leans back into her chair to watch him win at chess. She's played better, she seems to remember, but all the same she is about as happy with the outcome of the game as she could ever have expected, given the circumstances.

No, that's not true. This has, if anything, exceeded her expectations.

"I'm sorry." He tells her softly, and she knows he is not talking about beating her at chess. "I'm so sorry."

She nods again, but she doesn't say the words. Doesn't say that, if he wants forgiveness, she'll give it to him. She's not quite ready to do that, yet.

"You sleep here tonight." He suggests gently. "If you still need some space, I get that, and I can go somewhere else. It seems like the least I can do."

"That's OK." She tells him. "You should stay here. I'll go share the kids' room."

"No, have the bed." He tries to insist. "I'll sleep on the sofa in here."

"No. I'd like to stay close to them, tonight, if that's OK."

"Of course. I understand that. Thanks for playing chess with me."

"Thank you." She murmurs, standing up and heading for the door. "Good game."

The grasp of strategy may have reached an all time low, she suspects, but she thinks it's probably the best chess game she's ever played.

…...

Bellamy sits for a long time and stares at the door, trying to convince himself that the conversation he has just had with Clarke was real. Trying to convince himself that they are still, just about, on speaking terms, and that she's actually willing to spend the night under the same roof as him.

It all seems too good to be true, somehow. Of course, it is also awful, and devastating, and makes him want to retch until there's nothing left in his stomach to throw up. But all the same, it's a hell of a lot better than he was expecting, about eight hours ago.

He carefully resets the chess board, just in case it should prove useful again in the near future. Then he picks up a book, and settles on the sofa. He had better give her a decent head start, he thinks, so that she can take her things from the room they used to share, and use the bathroom, and get ready for bed, without having to walk into him every five seconds. That thought hurts quite a lot, actually. Walking into Clarke every five seconds about the house has long been one of his favourite features of their family life, bringing as it does frequent opportunities for stolen kisses or shared smiles.

Well. It looks like he won't be getting any of those for a while.

He pushes that thought aside and concentrates on Odysseus and his haphazard leadership. He figures he might as well read for quite a while, anyway, because it seems unlikely that he will get much sleep tonight. It seems unlikely, too, that he will take in that much from what he is reading while his mind is quite so chaotic as all this, but it seems that there is nothing much to be done about that.

Some hours have passed by the time he attempts to go to bed. He's not quite sure how many, but it must have been a good number because he's turned a lot of pages. He shrugs out of his shirt, tugs tiredly at his trousers and socks. Leaves his underwear on, unable as he is to summon the enthusiasm to go hunting for anything resembling pyjamas. Turns out the light.

And then he gets into bed, and proceeds to stare at the ceiling. He tries closing his eyes, but then he just ends up replaying the look on Clarke's face when she hissed at him earlier that he was supposed to protect their little girl and baby boy. So he gives up on that one, and stares.

And stares.

No, this is completely stupid. He's obviously not going to get any sleep. With a heavy sigh he admits defeat, and reaches for his book. He turns on a lamp, and turns a few more pages. And then a few more pages becomes a lot more pages, and a sleepless night becomes a sleepless early morning, he thinks, but there seems no point in torturing himself by checking the time.

And then he hears the bedroom door ease open.

He looks up from his book, surprised and confused, to see Clarke appear on the threshold, the deep furrows of her brow throwing shadows in the dim light of the lamp.

"Please don't say anything." She whispers, before he can even utter her name. "Or think anything. Or make a big deal about this in any way but – but I'm going to sleep in here tonight if that's OK."

He nods, a cautious smile playing about his lips. She did say not to say anything.

She barely returns the smile, a tiny quirking at the corners of her mouth which stands in sharp contrast to the exhausted frown in her eyes, and then she slips into the bed at his side.

He freezes a little, and shuffles further away from her. He's expecting polite bed sharing with his currently-rather-estranged-lover to be a bit of a challenge, really, and he figures it will be easier on both of them if he puts as much distance between them as possible. Easier, too, probably, if he continues to read his book with rapt concentration. But that might present a problem, he realises, because he knows she doesn't like it when he stays up late reading with the lamp on, knows that the light disturbs her sleep and – well, she looks like she could use as much sleep as possible, just now.

He sets his book aside and turns out the lamp. Resigns himself to a couple more hours spent staring at the ceiling while the woman he loves lies close by his side, unreachably far away. He tries crossing his arms across his chest, but that's uncomfortable and feels somehow unnatural, so he rearranges himself a bit, hands behind his head, still staring at that damn ceiling.

There is a rustling noise by his side, as Clarke shifts her weight on the bed slightly, tugs a bit at the sheets. And he wants so badly to ask how she's doing, or whether she wants him to leave, or whether there's anything at all he can do to make her more comfortable, but she did say not to say anything.

Another rustling noise. A bit more disturbance of the bedclothes.

And suddenly, against all expectation, there is a warm cheek resting on his chest. And he cannot for the life of him make sense of this, but she's definitely there, and he can tell by her breathing that she's still wide awake, and he wants to ask her what the hell she thinks she's doing but he's guessing that _not saying anything_ still applies. And then, of all things, her arm is reaching across him, too, her open palm resting on his shoulder, her warmth making him feel suddenly very sleepy.

She did say not to say anything. And not to think, either, nor to make a big deal of it. But holding Clarke close isn't something he's ever found requires a lot of thought, actually, so he just goes ahead and does it. Unfolds his arms from behind his head and wraps them around her, instead. Gives the slightest squeeze, then relaxes into the darkness.

The last thing he hears is her breathing change, that particular shift in rhythm that tells him, beyond all doubt, that she is fast asleep.


	16. Chapter sixteen

Clarke hates herself a little, the following morning. She hates herself for being so weak, and softening so quickly, and giving in to her need to be near to him. She hates herself for knowing that her forgiveness can be bought so cheaply, for the fact that, it seems, a game of chess, a few pretty words, and a sleepless night are all it takes for her to go running back into his arms.

She doesn't hate herself, though, as much as she loves Bellamy. For being there for her, even when she thought she didn't want him to be. For not asking too much of her, nor posing questions she isn't ready to answer. For the look in his eyes, as he wakes up and cranes his neck to meet her gaze, that tells her he understands. That he gets it, and he knows that falling into their bed when she was panicky and exhausted does not, in fact, mean that he is entirely forgiven.

"Morning." She greets him, voice less than warm but not quite cold.

"Am I allowed to speak now?" He asks softly.

"Yeah." She nods, settles herself back against his chest, and prepares herself for an inquisition.

It never comes.

"Morning." He greets her in turn, arms relaxing far enough for her to pull away, if she wishes.

She does not wish. "Thanks. For being here for me last night."

"Any time." He murmurs. He takes a hesitant breath, strokes her hair a little. Then apparently decides against saying whatever it was he was about to say.

"We should get going." She suggests, exhausted though she still is after so little sleep. "I was thinking that we should go meet with Octavia. Together. To talk over what the plan is with – with Madi."

"Yeah. OK." He agrees quietly, but makes no attempt to move.

She supposes she is still half on top of him. She forces herself to let go of him, to sit up and move towards the edge of the bed. To stand up, and start looking for some clothes. He's not going anywhere, she reminds herself. He'll be here to hold again, tonight, and the next night, and the next.

…...

Madi is overjoyed, and relieved beyond belief, when she sees her parents emerge from their room together that morning.

Then she observes the dark shadows under her mother's eyes, the weary sorrow in her father's gaze, the polite distance between them as they walk into the kitchen, and she realises that, perhaps, her relief is a little premature.

All the same, she figures she may as well try for a cheerful family breakfast. She greets each of them with a hug, and gestures to the table.

"I put some fruit out. I haven't started on the porridge, though. And Gus is still asleep."

"I'll go get him." Clarke says, with something approaching a smile, and Madi sighs in relief to see her mother behaving vaguely like her normal toddler-loving self again. "I seem to remember your father's better at making porridge than I am."

She so badly wants to ask Bellamy how things lie between him and Clarke, as they stand and prepare the food together in heavy silence. But she knows that she probably shouldn't, senses that it might hurt him to talk about it. Has a suspicion, too, that he doesn't entirely know the answer to any question she might ask about the state of her parents' relationship.

She thinks it might be none of her business, as well. Or maybe, she wonders, it _is_ her business, if it affects her taking the flame.

Anyway, she may be a child, but she has enough tact to realise that this is no time to pester either of them with questions. Clarke has returned, now, Gus perched on her hip, chuntering cheerfully away as he points at the breakfast table, and to his sister, and to his father, all with, it appears, equal enthusiasm.

Bellamy cracks a smile at that, his first true smile of the morning. "Good to know my son is as excited about a bowl of berries as he is to see his dad."

Clarke lets out a grudging laugh, and Madi finds herself sorely tempted to lock them in the house together until they start behaving normally.

"Do you want to sit him down?" Madi gestures at her little brother's place at the table, the special chair that Bellamy made quite some months ago.

"Yeah." Clarke sets Gus in his seat with evident relief. "He's getting a bit heavy, aren't you, baby boy?"

Bellamy is still hovering by the stove, smiling indulgently at the two of them fussing over the toddler, Madi notes. She supposes she had better do something to encourage him to join the party.

"Is the porridge ready, Bellamy? I'm hungry. Can we sit down and eat?"

"Sure we can, Madi. Here." He deposits the pan on the table, gestures to her to help herself. He takes his usual seat, leaving Clarke the space between him and Gus.

They occupy themselves for a few moments with the tasks of serving and eating the food, exchanging polite requests to pass this or that across the table. And Madi doesn't want to ruin the relative peace, really she doesn't, but she needs to have some clue what's going on, she thinks.

"Clarke? Bellamy? Can I ask what's happening?"

There is a heartbeat of silence. Bellamy swallows with visible difficulty, then speaks, with great care.

"You might have to be more specific than that, Madi."

She shakes herself, realises how that sounded. She's going to have to do better than this if she's going to be a competent commander, she frets. "Can I ask what the plan is about – about the flame? Are we going ahead with that?"

"You're the one who insisted on it." Clarke reminds her, in a tone she cannot quite read.

"Yeah. Yeah, I want to do it. I was just wondering whether you'd agreed to it, and how we're doing it."

Another pause.

"I've agreed to it." Clarke says heavily. Bellamy is looking at her as if this is, actually, news to him, and Madi despairs anew at this unnecessary miscommunication.

"We're going to go talk it over with Octavia this morning." He offers, still looking somewhat dazed.

"Can I come?" Madi asks, feeding Gus a spoonful of porridge and trying not to sound too hopeful.

"I'm not sure about that." Clarke says, in a tone that suggests that she _is_ sure, and the answer is a no. "I was hoping you might take Gus with you and go see Harper?"

"So you want me out of the way while you decide my fate without me?" She feels her indignation rising.

"That's not it, Madi." Bellamy explains quietly. "This is already a difficult situation for your mum and me, as I'm sure you've noticed. I think we need to talk it over with Octavia before we complicate things any further."

"OK." She can agree to it, actually, when he puts it like that.

"Thank you." Clarke murmurs, and Madi is not quite sure who she is actually thanking.

They return to eating their breakfast for a few moments. Gus throws a blackberry at the wall, but no one seems to think this is of any great concern, given the circumstances.

"Can I ask you a question?" Madi turns to her mother, when she has gathered enough courage.

"Yes." Clarke does not appear keen to agree with the request.

"What's it like, having the flame in your head?"

Her mother gasps in shock at that, and Madi finds herself the subject of a reproachful glare from Bellamy.

"I can't quite describe it." Clarke begins after taking a moment to collect herself. "It's frightening, of course, and confusing. I remember seeing so many things and not understanding what they all were and why I could see them. And I remember fear, and anger. But for me there was also a sense that it was protecting me, somehow. And – and Lexa, or what the flame held of her, helped me feel safe."

"So it's a mix of good and bad?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'd say so."

She pauses, purses her lips a little. Gazes, enraptured, at the worn table cloth.

"It was easier for me because your dad was there." Clarke whispers tearfully, talking about Bellamy as if he isn't even present. "He was there with me, the whole time, and – and between knowing Lexa was in the flame with me and Bellamy was in the real world with me, I did OK."

So, on the one hand, Madi would much rather her mother wasn't weeping at the breakfast table. But when she sees Bellamy reach out across the space between them, and cover Clarke's fingers with his own, she can't help but feel that, perhaps, this particular conversation has done more good than harm.

…..

Emori does not make a habit of interfering in other people's lives. She is, by and large, all too content to leave her acquaintances to do their thing while she minds her own business, having as she does rather extensive experience of people interfering in her life over the shape of her hand. But, just once in a while, an occasion arises where it is, she thinks, necessary to gossip a little for the sake of the greater good. This morning, for example, on her way between the home she shares with John and the workshop she shares with Raven, she is confronted by a most gossip-worthy sight.

Bellamy and Clarke are speaking to each other again. There is no doubt about this, none at all. Not only can she see them walking out the door of their home together, muttering quietly about something, but they even incorporate her into their conversation when she waves at them.

"Emori." Clarke nods at her, a strained smile about her lips, looking rather far beyond exhausted. "How are you this morning?"

"I'm good. How are you both?"

Clarke frowns for a moment, as if surprised that she should be asked this question. Bellamy gulps a little instead of answering, rubs his clenched fist against the open palm of his other hand in evident discomfort. Emori regrets asking, and is about to change the subject when Clarke surprises her with speech.

"We've been better, I think it's fair to say. But we've been worse, too."

Yes. That's true, from what she hears about the state the pair of them were in yesterday morning.

"I'm sorry to hear that." She says, not sure how else she is supposed to respond. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

Clarke nods, her lips contorting into a rather anguished expression. Bellamy mutters a gruff word of thanks, before gesturing to his sister's home.

"Shall we?" He asks Clarke, avoiding her gaze.

"Yeah. Let's get this over with."

And then, of course, just to make this interaction all the weirder, Clarke reaches for Bellamy's hand as the two of them walk away in the direction of Octavia's front door.

Yes. This is definitely news that needs passing on, Emori decides. Not out of malice, of course, nor out of any desire to make fun of her friends' relationship difficulties. No, quite the opposite. Raven was worried witless yesterday at the bad blood between her two close friends, and Monty expressed the opinion that things tend to go very badly wrong when Bellamy and Clarke are on opposite sides of an argument.

Even John said that it seemed _a bit crap_ , and that he hoped they would fix things soon. And she loves John, so it seems only right that she should allay some of his concerns by telling him that, even if things are not exactly fixed, just yet, they do seem a damn sight less broken.

…...

Octavia is surprised to say the least when Clarke and Bellamy show up at her front door together, hands clasped, looking almost as if they are actually still in a relationship. She rather expected her brother's love life to fall by the wayside somewhere along the line as a result of this plan, expected them to be at each other's throats, not still to have each other's backs.

On the other hand, they do both look absolutely miserable. Maybe they have hit a bit of a bump in the road after all.

Either way, her survival and the fate of her people is of far more interest to her than he state of her brother's relationship. And perhaps that makes her a bad person, but she's pretty damn convinced it makes her a good leader. What's best for Wonkru is surely a more worthy priority than whether Clarke is in a bit of a sulk. For the record, _a bit of a sulk_ is an understatement. Clarke looks utterly devastated, mixed with a fair dose of fury, and a good measure of exhaustion. And as for Bellamy – well, he looks somehow even worse.

"Welcome." Octavia says, as brightly as she is able, standing aside and inviting them to walk past Miller where he stands on guard at her door. "Thanks for coming."

"We need to work out a plan that keeps Madi safe." Bellamy announces without preamble. "We want to know how you intend to transfer power, and when, and how she'll be protected."

Octavia tries to gather her dignity, having presumed she might at least be allowed to offer them a seat and some refreshments before leaping straight to business.

"Of course." She says with, she thinks, admirable calm. "Do sit down. I'm pleased to hear you've agreed that this is a good idea."

"Don't push your luck." Clarke bites out, venom in every word. Octavia finds herself remembering rather suddenly why people have been rather afraid of this woman, in the past. "We've agreed it's the only idea we've got. Now tell us what you're going to do to keep _your niece_ safe."

Octavia sighs and sits in a chair, and is relieved and a little surprised when Clarke and Bellamy do likewise.

"I'm going to make an announcement, tomorrow, on the church steps. With you there, and Madi, and with the guards out in force, so no one will be able to get to her. And once I've announced that I intend to stand down, I expect the unrest to die away quite quickly."

Bellamy is nodding slowly, but Clarke still looks ready to throttle her.

"A few guards won't stop those rebels from thinking that's a good opportunity to shoot you." Clarke tells her, and she understands all too well from the tone of her voice that her only real objection to that situation is the idea that Madi might get caught in the crossfire. She loosely remembers a past when she was friends with Clarke, but it seems rather long ago, now.

"What do you suggest, then? I'm sure you're only pointing that out because you have a better idea."

"I do. I think we should put the word out there about _what_ you're actually announcing. If people know you're announcing your intention to transfer power, they'll have no motive to attack you before you can tell them the news."

"So you want us to announce the announcement before she really announces it?" Bellamy asks, looking at Clarke as if she's God's gift to humanity, or something. It's all a little sickening, Octavia cannot help but feel. She used to be the only person her brother found anywhere near that impressive, once upon a time.

"Exactly." Clarke confirms, with the closest thing to a real smile she's worn since she arrived here.

"Sounds like a plan." Bellamy agrees, talking entirely to Clarke and apparently having no real use for Octavia's ongoing presence. "I can go get to work on that if you want to catch up on some time with the kids?"

Clarke's smile almost reaches her eyes at that. "I'd like that. Thank you."

…...

Bellamy perhaps spends longer spreading the news of Octavia's intention to step down than is strictly necessary. In fact, by late afternoon, he's beginning to suspect that he's told every inhabitant of the village in person and rendered the announcement scheduled for the following day somewhat pointless. But he wants to do the job thoroughly, wants to ensure that no one sees any reason to cause trouble, wants to secure his daughter's safety.

If he gives Clarke a little space into the bargain, that can hardly be a bad thing, he figures.

He does go home eventually, though. He's beginning to miss his children, not used to spending the greater part of the day without them. And he's missing Clarke, too, and however much she might have wanted to get away from him a couple of days ago, he sort of needs to be able to see her and he so badly wants to make a start on pushing things back towards something like normality.

He arrives at home and enters the living room to the sight of Clarke sitting cross-legged on the floor, Madi by her side, the pair of them watching over Gus as he plays. He's holding tight to a rustically carved bear, a small wooden model that Bellamy himself created for his little boy's last birthday. Personally, he's not even convinced it looks much like a bear, but Gus has been obsessed with the toy ever since he first set eyes on it.

Gus sees him enter the room, toddles towards him with great speed and a lot of enthusiastic gabbling about how he's playing at bear trap. Bellamy's not entirely sure what _bear trap_ consists of, as a game, but Gus is still a little young for a careful explanation of the rules to be a realistic expectation, he supposes. And anyway, Clarke's smiling, so whatever _bear trap_ might be, it is surely not anything bad.

"Hey." Bellamy greets them all, trying not to feel out of place in his own living room.

"Hey." Clarke's smile hasn't fallen off her face yet. "Did it go OK? Do you think it worked?"

"Yeah. Everyone I spoke to said it was good news and they'd spread the word."

"Great."

"Will you be there with me, tomorrow?" Madi asks now, and Bellamy supposes that Clarke has filled her in on the plan in his absence.

"Of course we will." Bellamy confirms. "You'll have your whole family by your side."

Madi breathes a visible sigh of relief at that, and he curses yet again the fact that he's found himself agreeing to put his daughter under this kind of pressure. "Do I need to do anything before then? Do I have to prepare or practise or anything?"

"I don't think so, Madi." Clarke reassures her, apparently in a rather calmer frame of mind than she has been of late. "Octavia will speak, but you just need to step up and smile and wave. I actually thought it might be nice if we had a Lion King evening. I think some quiet family time would be good for all of us."

Bellamy feels his jaw hit the floor at that. She wants to play happy families, even after every wretched thing he has done in recent days to tear their family apart? They're not even due for their monthly Lion King afternoon, he notes, so she really must mean something by this.

"I'd like that." Madi agrees with a grin.

"Lion King!" Gus contributes helpfully, gesticulating in the general direction of the TV, that precious bear still wrapped in his little fingers.

"That sounds great." Bellamy manages to get out, sounding somewhat choked.

He feels rather self-conscious as he adopts his accustomed seat on the sofa and sets up the film. Their family movie time is a rather well-honed routine, in which a key component is the way that all four of them pile onto the sofa together, Clarke normally sitting half in his lap, Madi with her legs tucked up to her side, Gus sprawling across the whole lot of them, climbing from person to person as the whim takes him. But Bellamy is pretty sure that, today, Clarke will not be on board with sharing his personal space quite so freely.

"Are you OK?" He asks, as she takes a seat close by his side, thigh pressed up against his. He shuffles ineffectually sideways, sitting right up against the arm of the sofa, and wonders if he has ever been quite so uncomfortable in this room as he is now.

"Yeah." She confirms, with the slightest quirk of her lips. "I'm good. Sit still."

Well. He wouldn't want to disappoint her twice in two days. He stops wriggling, and gets on with enjoying her warmth at his side. She's not exactly sitting on his knee, sure, and he's certainly not going to attempt to put an arm around her, but all the same, this feels like a success, given the circumstances.

Madi takes a seat on the other side of Clarke, and Gus decides to start out on his sister's knee. And the familiar opening scene rolls, and Bellamy relaxes back against the sofa, and allows his mind to switch off. It's not exactly a taxing film, after all, and he has watched it literally dozens of times.

It is not until he wakes up that he realises he must have fallen asleep. It's no great surprise, he supposes. He didn't get a lot of rest last night, and a bit of soothing repetition of Lion King, and the reassuring presence of Clarke by his side, seems like a pretty good recipe for a comfortable nap. He suspects that he must have been asleep some time. It's dark beyond the windows, now, and he seems to be the only occupant of the sofa.

With a start he realises why he woke up. Clarke has just taken a seat at the table, and is now scraping her chair as quietly as possible across the floor as she shuffles into place.

"Sorry." She whispers, apparently having noticed that she has woken him.

"No worries." He stretches a little, smothers a yawn. "I can't believe I fell asleep."

"I don't blame you, after last night. I dozed off, too, and only woke up again when Madi started poking me."

He chuckles a little. He's not quite sure if open laughter is allowed in this house, just now. "Have they gone to bed?"

"Yeah. Gus is already fast asleep. Madi told me to get out so she could finish reading that book you gave her."

"She's already practising giving orders." He jokes, but then realises what he's done. He glares at the floor, chastising himself thoroughly. His eleven-year-old daughter having to give orders is not a joking matter.

Clarke surprises him with a hollow laugh.

"You've made more inappropriate jokes." She tells him, as if she can read his mind. After five years of spending almost every moment of every day together, maybe she can. "I think _try doing that hanging upside down_ was my favourite."

"Still, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry about all of this." He shakes his head hopelessly and tries not to weep. "I knew you had history with the flame, and knew you'd feel we were plotting against you, and knew you'd be all-round horrified, and I should have handled it more carefully."

"You can stop apologising now." She murmurs, eyes fixed carefully on the chess board which is neatly set out before her, where he left it last night.

"I don't think I can."

"I should have known you'd say that. You are you, after all." She pauses for a moment, takes a careful breath. Shakes her head, apparently deciding not to speak after all, and moves a pawn.

He wonders if he is supposed to go over there, and maybe join her in a game, but he's not quite sure he can. He's pretty certain that if he leaves this sofa any time soon he'll end up hugging her, or kissing her, or some other thing that's not entirely appropriate while she's still angry with him, and then she'll be even more -

"I forgive you." She whispers, so quietly he can hardly hear it, so unexpectedly that he can hardly believe it.

"You mean that?"

"Yeah. Of course I do. I forgive you." She looks up and meets his gaze, voice growing stronger with every word. "You're forgiven."

He knows he's grinning at her like some pathetic lovestruck teenager, but that's what he feels like, right now. "Thank you, Clarke. I promise I won't ever do anything like that again."

"I know you won't." She allows herself a small smile, too, and gestures at the table before her. "Are you going to play chess from all the way over there or do you want to be able to reach the board?"

He does jump to his feet now, and strides over there, and he is about to pull out his chair and take a seat when he changes his mind.

He approaches Clarke, first, and places a tentative hand on her shoulder. He squeezes it gently, like he did so many years ago, and drops a soft kiss on her hairline, as he didn't dare to do, back then.

The sigh of relief he breathes when she reaches up to cover his hand with her own is not exactly subtle.

"You're forgiven." She repeats, leaning her cheek against their joined hands. "But it might take me a while longer to let go of my anger. Does that make sense?"

"Of course it does." He murmurs, wondering how far to push his luck. "Take as long as you need. I'll be waiting for you."

He's waited for her in worse circumstances, after all. His heart may have broken a little, these last couple of days, but the world isn't burning, so that's better than nothing.


	17. Chapter 17

They play a grand total of two games of chess before Clarke decides that it's time to call it a night. She can't remember the last time she turned in for the evening this early, but she's painfully short of sleep and struggling to keep her eyes open, and she suspects that Bellamy, too, is rather desperate for an excuse to give up and get some rest.

"Shall we stop there?" She asks, as Bellamy concedes that she has, in fact, got him in checkmate. "I'd like to get to bed."

"Sure." He agrees easily.

He does seem to be agreeing with her _abnormally_ easily at the moment, and she's rather hoping that he might get a bit of personality back once she's sorted through her feelings about the whole flame situation, and once he's feeling a bit more confident in their relationship again. For now, though, she is too tired to argue, and simply gets on with putting away the chess set and rising effortfully to her feet.

She is half way to the door before she realises he has not followed.

"Aren't you coming?" She asks, confused to say the least.

"I – well – I thought probably you didn't want me to." He mutters, eyes fixed very carefully on the book he has just taken up. "I thought I should stay and read, give you some space."

She sighs deeply and wonders where to begin.

"Bellamy, did you think me showing up in your bed last night and squishing you so tight you could hardly breathe was me saying I wanted you to _give me some space_?"

"Our bed." He whispers, gaze still lowered.

"What?"

"It's our bed. So you had every right to be there. And you did tell me not to think anything."

She sighs again, and hopes that sighing will not become a habit.

"I just told you that I forgive you. And, yeah, I'm still upset and angry, and it might be a while until I'm in the mood for a wild sex life or whatever, but you're welcome to come to bed." She takes a deep breath, fixes her gaze solidly on a worn patch in the carpet, and prepares to tell him a difficult truth. "I'd _like_ you to come to bed. I'd really like you to – to hold me again, if that's OK."

"Sure." He agrees, still infuriatingly compliant. "Of course that's OK. If you're sure that's what you want."

She nods, once, with quite some difficulty. And then she turns and heads for the bedroom, only this time he is following, hot on her heels, the book which he found so eye-catching mere moments ago presumably dropped somewhere along the line.

Before long, naturally, they arrive in the bedroom, as she should have known they would. Well, she supposes that she _knew_ _,_ because it's not exactly a surprising development, but in this moment she finds that she is a bit shocked by the idea of arriving in the bedroom she shares with a man she is currently furious with, yet somehow also in love with, and in front of whom she is now, presumably, going to have to get changed if she is to make a success of going to bed any time soon. It all seems rather frightening, suddenly, potentially awkward, to strip here and now when he currently feels more like a stranger than her lover.

And then, of course, there is the question of pyjamas. She wore some last night – or what passes for pyjamas round here, at least – because she started out in the kids' room, but she doesn't normally bother with excess fabric when she's sharing a bed with Bellamy. And all in all, there are somehow suddenly too many logistical problems for her to deal with while she's exhausted and angry and scared and at least a little _overwrought_.

And before she quite realises it is happening, she finds that she has burst into tears.

This is something that she is not proud of. Sobbing pointlessly in her own bedroom with Bellamy looking on was not at the top of her dismal to-do list, this morning. And apart from anything else, she's standing here rather stupidly with her trousers half way down her legs where she froze in frantic grief half way through changing.

She looks stupid, and she feels stupid. That realisation rushes up to meet her quite quickly, actually, the idea that she must be a bit of an idiot and somewhat pathetic to have got herself into this situation, where she's somehow so dependent on someone who would upset her so much. She sort of hates herself for it, but she hasn't quite got the energy to spare in order to do a good job of even that.

She hasn't got the energy to spare for _anything_ , and she is totally and completely -

Before she can finish that thought, somehow, warm arms are closing around her, and an assortment of soothing noises are being whispered into the air near her ear.

"You're OK, Clarke. You're OK." Bellamy whispers, holding her tight. "And Madi's fine, too, and we're going to look after her. And Gus is great, and I'm sure he'll tread mud all over the carpet again tomorrow, and the next day. And – and I know _we're_ not OK, but we will be, I promise. I'll do whatever it takes to fix this, and to show you I'm sorry, you know I will."

She nods a little, but realises he probably can't really interpret that based on the way her head is buried in his chest just now. Decides she had better have a go at speaking through her sobs, instead.

"I know." She confirms, because she does.

Maybe it's not so pathetic, after all, to allow herself to depend on someone who will, she knows, always be there for her. Perhaps one mistake does not cancel out the life they have made together.

"I hope this is OK." He's murmuring now. "Me holding you like this? I just – God, Clarke. I couldn't just stand there and watch you cry, could I? And you did say I could hold you, tonight, so I hope this is alright?"

"It's great." She assures him, past the gradually softening lump in her throat. "It's what I needed. Thank you."

"Any time."

She pulls away, then, and discards her trousers. She opts for an unsophisticated but essentially practical plan of going to bed in her underwear. Fashion is hardly her priority right now. Within moments, she is sagging onto the mattress, and he is taking his rightful place at her side, and she is debating whether she has the strength for one last difficult conversation.

"Bellamy?"

"Yeah?"

"You can stop treating me like – I don't know, like I might explode, or something. Please. Stop agreeing with everything I say. And you know me well enough to know whether I want a hug without asking my permission in words every damn time."

"I'm sorry. I just – I don't want to screw up again."

"I know. I get that. But I fell in love with _you_ , and I just want my Bellamy back."

There is a beat of silence, in which she begins to suspect that she has made the situation even worse. Is he hurt, perhaps, or is he fed up with her making a fuss about everything he ever does? Is he about to lose his temper over her thinking she has some right to give him instructions on how to behave, or about to -?

" _Your_ Bellamy?" He asks her, in something almost resembling his usual teasing tone. "That's a bit possessive of you, Princess."

With a generous giggle, she wraps her arms around him, curls herself close up against his side. And she means to go straight to sleep, really she does, because she is, for the record, absolutely exhausted.

But she can't sleep. Not quite yet.

Not until she presses one solitary, soft kiss to the curve of his neck.

…...

Echo isn't sure why she feels nervous on waking up the following morning. She has every reason to hate Octavia, and very few reasons at all to care whether or not she manages to step down before she gets herself assassinated. And sure, she respects Bellamy and Clarke, but she has no great affection for them, and she barely knows their daughter.

But somehow, she is nervous. These people are her family, by association, in consequence of their relationships with the people she has grown so close to in the last five years. And she cannot help but feel that Raven, in particular, has taught her a thing or two about caring, and about worrying over the wellbeing of others.

She'd quite like to be able to tell her that, but somehow she's not sure it would go down well.

"Morning." Raven greets her with a small smile as she enters the kitchen. "Is there a reason you're staring out of the window rather than making breakfast?"

"Why do I always have to be the one who makes breakfast?"

"Because you're too good for me." The tone is teasing, but Echo knows that Raven really thinks the words are true. "Really, though, why are you staring out of the window?"

"I'm worried about today. About how the announcement will go down. Which is stupid, because Octavia's not my sister and Madi's not my daughter, but somehow I still care."

"Yeah. I can't imagine how Clarke and Bellamy are feeling right now."

"I always thought they were a bit... superhuman, you know. Even when we were on different sides. They just always seemed like they could do anything, fix anything. It's been weird, this week, to find out that's not true."

"It's been weird to see them at odds." Raven adds. "They seemed so in tune with each other when we first got here."

"It hasn't taken us long to ruin their lives." Echo agrees. Sure, it wasn't _them_ , as such, not them personally, but all the same, it sucks that her friends-by-association have had their peace shattered by the challenges of leading the human race once more.

Silence falls, but Echo thinks that it is not an uncomfortable one. She steps away from the sink, sets out some breakfast. Fills a couple of glasses with water, and tries not to dwell too hard on what Raven just said, that lie about being _too good for her_. No, she's not thinking about that, not now. She's very busy with fetching spoons, and lining them up just-so on the table, and sitting down, and -

"You're wrong, you know." She admits defeat, and says the words.

"What?" Raven looks confused, and that doesn't happen very often.

"I'm not too good for you. You – you deserve everything good, you know that? You deserve so much better than me."

"That's a load of crap, and you know it." Raven bites back. "Anyone would be lucky to have you in their life. And if you think -"

"Why are we even having this conversation?"

"What do you mean?"

Echo supposes she could explain. She could use actual words, and point out that it seems a bit silly for them both to sit around arguing that each other deserves better. Or she could do what she would have done in days gone by, and simply stew about this all week. Or, if she were a braver woman, perhaps she might just halt Raven's pointless protestations with a kiss.

She chooses a path somewhere in between, in the end. She jumps to her feet, and takes two whole steps, and then she enfolds Raven in a hug.

"For someone so clever, you really are an idiot sometimes." She bends down to whisper in her general direction.

She expects Raven to freeze a little at all of this _contact_ and _affection_ , expects to be brushed aside with a carefully orchestrated laugh.

She does not expect Raven to relax into her arms, to lean a cheek against her chest, and seek out her hand to squeeze it gently with her own.

And yet, somehow, that is exactly what happens.

…...

Harper has somehow ended up with the duty of shepherding the Wonkru novitiates towards the church steps to listen to the announcement. She's not sure what it was, exactly, about her general demeanour that marked her out as someone likely to be skilled in the art of coordinating overexcited teenagers, but she supposes it could at least be going worse. She hasn't lost any – yet – and none of them have thrown any rocks through Octavia's window on the way past, so she supposes she is basically succeeding.

OK, sure, perhaps it's time for her to admit she rather _likes_ shepherding Wonkru novitiates around the place. They are lively, and interesting, and kind for the most part, and at the end of a particularly satisfying day's training she can almost forget that she's still not pregnant.

Well, she supposes she isn't. She'll get that confirmed once again any day now, no doubt.

But, yes, she's happier just now than she was for their first few weeks here, so she supposes she ought to take that as progress. It makes her feel almost guilty, actually, that she has so many reasons to feel happy but she's still somewhat sad. And then, obviously, that makes everything even worse, and then things are apt to spiral a little.

No. She's happy today. There are cheerful novitiates and an announcement that should bring peace.

They haven't got here early enough. They are quite some way back in the crowd, and little Ethan is complaining as loudly as his young voice will allow him to that he can't see, and that it's not fair that he can't see, and that he wants to be able to see Madi's big moment.

"I don't think this is really her big moment, Ethan." Harper reassures him gently. "This is just her aunt stepping down. Madi will have loads of big moments in future, when she's the commander, and I'm sure you'll get to support her then."

"But I want to be able to see her _now_." He pouts a little, and she tries not to laugh.

"You're not missing much." Damien, a rather taller young man, reassures his shorter friend. "She's sort of standing behind her parents and looking bored."

She would agree with that. The future ruler of her people looks far from entertained. But as Harper looks towards the steps, she is rather preoccupied with something altogether more interesting.

Bellamy and Clarke are holding hands.

She sort of wants to give a little shout of joy, or dance a jig, or something. She hoped they would get their act together sooner or later, would remember that they are supposed to be a team. But things were looking pretty dire, really, and so she is beyond excited to see them supporting each other in public like this.

This is how it is supposed to be.

Octavia starts speaking, then, and Harper supposes she had better listen. The outgoing tyrant keeps her speech short and to the point, explains that she is relinquishing power, names Madi as her successor. She is clear that this is because of her nightblood, not because of her family relationship with Bloodreina, and Harper reckons that is probably for the best. And then, of course, there is mention of the elected council, and the vote that will be held to choose them in the coming weeks.

And then it is done, and a stunned silence falls over the crowd. It sits, for a moment, but not heavily so. It is not an oppressive silence, but a watchful one, a time of waiting, and of anticipation. And then -

"Heda! Heda! Heda!"

Before Harper quite knows what is happening, she is even chanting the word herself.

…...

Bellamy is very careful not to think too hard when Clarke takes his hand on the church steps.

He is careful, too, not to think too hard when she places an arm about his waist as they pose with Madi in front of the applauding crowd, nor when she tells Octavia later that they would prefer to have a quiet evening at home together than any kind of ostentatious extended family dinner, nor when she spends that quiet evening pressed close up against him on the sofa.

In fact, he is making something of a study of not thinking too hard, of late.

He knows that the moment he allows his brain to start to function, he will lose the plot completely. It is maddening – or perhaps _worse_ than maddening – to be stuck in this awkward limbo with an angry Clarke. He just misses her, and their comfortable relationship, and her casual affection, so much that it hurts.

But it doesn't hurt quite as much, of course, as the knowledge that this is all his fault.

"What's wrong?" She asks him, while they are supposed to be watching some film about a cartoon fish that Gus simply adores.

"Nothing." He lies, with a careful twitching of his lips. "Nothing at all."

"Bellamy. I know you better than that. What's wrong?"

"I'm just worried about Madi." He murmurs. It is not so far from the truth.

"Me too." She agrees, squeezing his thigh, making his heart give a little stutter in his chest at how closely it resembles that _casual affection_. "But I hear she's going to have a pretty great chief bodyguard."

He chuckles a little at that, even through his sadness. "You flatter me."

"It's only the truth. I know you'll do everything you can to protect her."

"Of course I will."

"I'm sorry I didn't see that before." She mutters now, eyes fixed carefully on the animated jellyfish on the screen, rather than on his face. "I was a bit overwhelmed."

"I get that." He sucks in a breath, decides to risk telling her at least some of the truth. "I'm so angry with myself for how I handled that, Clarke, and I'm so sorry I made a mess of it."

"I know." She tells him calmly. "I noticed."

"You did?"

"Yeah."

She doesn't bother telling him not to be angry with himself, and he is not surprised. He knows that she's long since given up on wasting her breath on such things, long since realised that he will forgive himself in his own time.

He is surprised, though, when she leans into his body more closely, presses herself up against him. And he's a bit puzzled by this, really, because he's pretty sure he's still in the metaphorical doghouse, but if she did this at any other time he'd think she was trying to invite him to put an arm around her.

It's worth a try, he supposes. She did ask him to act a bit more like his normal self, and his normal self would definitely have reached out for her by now. Slowly, tentatively, giving her time to rebuff him, he encircles her shoulders, invites her wordlessly to curl into his chest. And she certainly doesn't rebuff him, but rather tucks herself neatly into the space between his arm and his body, and sinks deeply into his embrace.

Maybe he should try to remember how his normal self would behave more often.

It's not the world's most sophisticated movie, and they've watched it before, so he spends the time rather agreeably in whispering the occasional comment to Clarke, and drawing the occasional circle on her skin with his fingertips, and even dropping the occasional kiss onto the crown of her head. And then their family evening is over, and in the spirit of normality, they both head down the corridor to settle Gus in for the night, and then they sit around with Madi in the living room for a while, drawing and reading and doing a great deal of nothing.

And then Madi takes herself to bed, and then he starts to find normality a bit more challenging.

"Do you want to play chess?" He offers. He seems to remember that chess is a thing they sometimes do, normally.

"No, thanks. I thought I might head to bed. I'm still tired out from the other night."

"Me too." He admits. "Can I join you?"

She nods, with at least half a smile. "I'd like that."

He smiles right back, perhaps a little wider than is truly necessary, and sets out down the corridor. They don't talk as they get ready for bed, but there's nothing so inherently abnormal about that. It's more of an absence of anything to say, he likes to think, than the presence of anything particularly oppressive in the atmosphere.

And then they are lying in bed, limbs curled loosely around each other, a slither more space between their bodies than he is really content to leave.

As if she has read his mind, Clarke shuffles towards him a little, and closes that gap. And it gives him the confidence that has been wanting, these last couple of days, the confidence to get back on with a key ritual of normality.

He strokes a finger down her cheek, tucks it beneath her chin. Eases her head up to face him, gently, slowly, giving her the time to work out what he's doing, the chance to object if she's still not ready for life to be quite _this_ normal once more.

And then he reaches down for a goodnight kiss.

He hasn't planned this particularly thoroughly, he has to admit. But in as much as he planned it at all, he was sort of aiming for something more than a peck but less than a full-blown snog. A considerate and affectionate meeting of lips, perhaps.

That's not quite how it turns out, in the end. And he's not sure whose idea it is, exactly, but he's not going to complain about the way her mouth opens to welcome him home, or about the way she moans against him as he sucks a little on her lower lip. And he's certainly not going to complain, either, about the hand she tangles in his hair, or the fingertips tracing the shape of his shoulders, or about the warmth of her breath as she begins to sigh into his mouth.

And then she takes a hand lower, with a suggestion it is impossible to misunderstand, and he thinks that, probably, he will never complain about anything ever again.


	18. Chapter 18

Madi makes a point of knowing as little as possible about what her parents get up to behind closed doors. She is only eleven, after all, and although she's totally fine with reading graphic depictions of multiple deaths in the _Iliad_ , she still gets a little freaked out every time a happy couple do so much as kiss during the films she likes to watch with her family.

This morning, though, there is no avoiding the fact that Clarke and Bellamy seem rather more physically close than they were last night. There is simply no other explanation for the way that they are suddenly walking hand in hand once again as they enter the kitchen for breakfast, nor for the completely unnecessary and somewhat lingering kiss they decide to share while stirring the porridge.

"Is this where I say _get a room_?" She asks them, half grinning, half grossed out.

"We already have a room." Clarke points out, looking puzzled.

"I'm proud of you, kid." Bellamy nods in approval. "We'll make an old Earth culture nerd of you yet."

She beams at that praise, momentarily distracted from her parents' sickening felicity. "I knew I learnt something useful from you."

"That's not fair. You learnt _many_ useful things from me." Bellamy teases her cheerfully.

"I learnt more useful things from Clarke." She argues with spirit. "She's a doctor. You just know an unnatural amount about the Romans."

"And about shooting things." Clarke joins in, defending him. "He's great at shooting things. And cooking. And being kind and parenting and -"

"Yeah, I know. I was only teasing, you're both great." Madi rolls her eyes a little at her mother's newfound enthusiasm for singing the praises of a man she was furious with only days ago. It seems that her suspicions were right. They really have fixed things between them.

"I'm not sure about that." Bellamy says, his levity suddenly melting away. "Shall I go get Gus up?"

"I'll come with you." Clarke volunteers, before he has taken so much as a single step towards the door. Clearly she cannot quite bear to be separated from him so soon.

Madi giggles a little at the pair of them as they go in search of Gus, and rescues the porridge which they have abandoned on the stove in their distraction. It is a good job, she thinks, that they have her. And that they have each other. She cannot really imagine either of them surviving on their own for long.

Breakfast is a cheerful affair, and Gus surprises them all by eating more of his food than he throws. Perhaps, Madi muses, her little brother might actually be growing up. His conversation is certainly becoming rather more coherent – he's made it as far, this morning, as expressing a preference for one type of berry over another and asking if he can play with his sister soon.

"I'm sorry, baby boy." Clarke soothes quietly. "You can't play with Madi today, because she has to go to a lesson."

He pouts a little in response, not at all used to not getting his way.

"Madi." He demands again, loudly, for good measure. "I play with Madi."

"You can play with her later." Bellamy suggests, trying to distract him with a portion of his favourite berries. "But she has to go out for the morning."

"I have to learn how to be the Commander." Madi explains, aware that there is little chance of Gus understanding this just yet, but deciding she may as well start talking anyway. If even some of it goes in, perhaps it will help him to make sense of this crazy village he lives in. "I have to take lessons so that when I get the flame I know how to control it and how to stay safe."

"Madi, honey. I don't think there's much point explaining -"

"I know, Clarke. But – he might be a kid, but he's still a Griffin-Blake. He's going to have to grow up fast, isn't he? He'll understand what he understands, and I'll keep trying until he's old enough to understand it all."

She expects that dose of realism to put a damper on things, really, to kill the cheerful mood. But much against her expectations, her mother breaks into a cautious smile. "You're going to be a great commander, Madi. I might not like that you have to do this but – you were right. You're ready for this."

"Yes." She agrees, getting to her feet, breakfast finished. "I am."

With that, she bids her parents farewell and heads out the door.

…...

Raven has not got the hang of friendship yet. She's been at it almost a quarter of a century, but has had very few opportunities to practise. As a kid, she only had Finn, and for the last five years she's had limited company and a box in the sky. The only time before the present that she's ever lived with a large number of her peers was those first months on the ground, and they were so fraught with danger that she didn't exactly make a priority of practising emotional closeness. So it is that she's not really sure how to go about showing Clarke and Bellamy that she cares about them and wants to support them through the difficult time they must be experiencing with Madi's upcoming ascension and their recent row.

Of one thing, though, she is fairly sure. Doing something has got to be better than doing nothing.

"I'm thinking of inviting Clarke over for lunch." She tells Echo, because telling Echo what's on her mind is always a better idea than _not_ telling Echo what's on her mind.

"You are? We've never had anyone over for lunch before."

"No. But – you know. She's had a tough few days and I thought – she's our friend."

"She's your friend." Echo corrects her in a neutral tone. "I don't mean to say she's still my enemy – I respect her, and I'll always have her back for your sake, now we've put the past behind us. But she's _your_ friend."

"Do you think she is?" Raven asks, feeling rather small.

"Of course she is. She was ready to give her life to get you into space, Raven."

"That doesn't count as friendship, with Clarke. She'd give up her life for pretty much anyone. Or she used to be like that, anyway. It's good to see her valuing herself a bit more, since Praimfaya."

Echo nods thoughtfully. "OK, that was a poor example. But she is your friend. You said she came to the workshop the other day when she was upset? That has to count for something."

"Yeah, but she didn't tell me what was wrong."

"She's _Clarke_. She wasn't going to tell you what was wrong. From what I hear, it took her a day to even talk it out with Bellamy."

"I guess."

"Invite her over, Raven. I'm sure she'd like to know you're here for her. You can always invite Emori as well, and Harper, make it more of a casual group thing?"

"You're an alarmingly good strategist, you know that?"

"It's what I do." Echo tells her with a grin.

…...

Harper isn't feeling particularly hungry, a vague sense of not-quite-well playing around the edges of her insides, but she is enjoying lunch all the same. It doesn't take a genius to work out, after all, that eating is not really the point of this particular meal.

"How is everyone?" Raven asks, with all the subtlety of – well – Raven.

"Not bad." Emori tells them with a grin. "You need to hear about what John did last night -"

"No." Raven corrects her firmly. "We do not. No one came here to hear about your idiot boyfriend."

"I don't know. He's pretty good for entertainment when he's not being a total dick." Harper speaks up.

Clarke makes an alarming choking noise at that, and Echo slaps her on the back with a little more force than is perhaps strictly necessary.

"If that's you hitting a friend, I'm pleased we're not enemies any more." Clarke tells her evenly.

There is a heartbeat of silence, and then Echo laughs. "I take it back, Raven. You were right. _Friendship_."

Harper isn't quite sure what to make of that, but Echo and Raven laughing in their own little world is something she quite likes to encourage, so she turns aside and addresses Clarke instead of asking after their joke. "How are you doing, Clarke, really? With the situation with Madi?"

"OK, surprisingly." Clarke says, as the table falls silent to listen. This is, if they're being honest, the real reason they're all here. "It was the only choice. She's determined to do it, and Bellamy's going to follow her around being wildly overprotective."

"How are things with Bellamy?" Harper hates herself slightly for asking the question so bluntly, but she's not sure how else to go about it.

"He's Bellamy." Clarke shrugs, as if that's supposed to mean something to them.

"Yes?" Raven indicates that, perhaps, they will need a little more than that.

"I mean, I'd forgive him for anything, wouldn't I? I love him."

"So you two are OK?" Emori is apparently still as confused as Harper feels.

"We're all kinds of screwed up. But we're very much still together, if that's what you're asking."

The conversation moves on, then, Harper explaining Monty's latest progress with the use of algae as a fertiliser, Emori wondering whether John is ever going to learn how to fish. And Harper knows that she is not the only one breathing a sigh of relief. Clarke is OK, and Bellamy is OK, and most importantly for the safety of the human race, they're still on the same side.

…...

Octavia thinks that receiving an invitation to spend the evening with her brother and his family can only be a good thing. This is, presumably, a sign that tensions are easing, and that there is the hope of a rather brighter and more peaceful future for the whole lot of them.

It is with high spirits, then, that she dresses in the newest addition to her limited wardrobe. She had to trade a lot of other clothes to buy this one tattered green cloak, but she is pleased to have done so all the same. It is long past time that she stopped wearing Bloodreina's old outfits.

Cloak swirling about her shoulders, she opens the door of her house and starts down the steps.

"Miller." She greets him with what she hopes is a smile. She's sadly out of practise at those, these days.

"Octavia." He says carefully, still getting the hang of calling her by her actual name again.

Without waiting for her instructions, he falls into step by her side, follows her the short distance to Bellamy's home. She knocks on the door, and Madi opens it with a cautious smile. Octavia enters, and makes a start down the corridor, wondering why she can hear music coming from the kitchen.

That is when she realises that Miller is still on the door step.

"Aren't you coming in?" She turns to ask him.

"I don't think you need a guard in your own brother's house." He shrugs. "I'll keep watch here until you're done."

"No – I mean – aren't you coming in to spend the evening? With Bellamy's family?"

"He's not my brother." Miller reminds her, jaw locked.

"He is in every way that matters." She argues back, wondering quite how she has managed to destroy her most loyal lieutenant's spirit so badly. "Come on in."

"No." He shakes his head. "It wouldn't be right, Blo -"

"Get inside." Madi interrupts. "As your future Commander, I am _ordering_ you to spend the evening. You're literally the only person other than Clarke and Octavia my dad ever talks about. You're invited. Come in."

He doesn't argue any further, just nods and steps across the threshold. And, sure, he still looks deeply uncomfortable, but Octavia reckons this is enough progress for one day.

She gets back on with walking down the corridor, still following the sound of that music spilling from the kitchen. And suddenly, as she makes it to that doorway, it all makes sense.

She's not aware that _Don't Stop Me Now_ is a very common choice for a slow dance, but that doesn't seem to be bothering Bellamy in the slightest. No, as he holds Clarke close and turns gently on the spot, he is beaming from ear to ear.

And suddenly, for the first time since he opened that damn bunker, she actually gets it. Her big brother really has gone and fallen in love.


	19. Chapter 19

Clarke used to look forward to her daughter's twelfth birthday, but ever since this damn flame plan she finds herself wishing that the day might never arrive. It has been decided that the day she turns twelve will be the day she becomes the Commander, and Clarke is utterly convinced that this is far too young.

She thinks that, probably, forty-three would be too young, too.

But as it is, the appointed day is speeding towards them, quicker and ever quicker – or so it seems to Clarke. The days rush by in a dizzy blur of sending her daughter out to lessons on how to manage her future role, and caring for her son, and rekindling her relationship with Bellamy. After all, they have a whole three days of awkward celibacy to make up for.

And then there are the more mundane tasks of every day to be accomplished, too. The growing of cauliflowers and the snaring of rabbits, and showing the members of Wonkru who are still working out the art of farming how to keep themselves fed.

She has an election to organise as well. She's not sure why it should be her job, to arrange for the vote which will choose the council to advise Madi, but it certainly didn't seem to be anyone else's job and so she has found herself taking it on. And it wouldn't be so bad, really, to collect the names of the half a dozen very eligible candidates who wish to stand for the half a dozen places, but there are a few logistical problems to be overcome. Apart from anything else, half of Wonkru are illiterate, and the list of people they trust enough to help them read their choices and cast their votes is short indeed.

Who is she kidding? There is no list. There is Jackson, and Madi herself. And that's about it.

"What's wrong?" Bellamy's voice in her ear surprises her in the midst of typing out the virtual ballot paper on her tablet.

"There has to be a better way of doing this." She frets. "It's going to take ages for the whole of Wonkru to queue up and vote at the three working tablets we have. Not to mention loads of them can't read, and when I asked around, the only proxies they were willing to nominate were Jackson and Madi. And it's ridiculous, anyway, because there are only as many candidates as places -"

"Clarke." He rests an arm around her shoulders, presses a kiss to her cheek. "Shall we have a go at thinking this through? Is there another way to do this anonymously?"

"Not that I can think of." And she has thought about it, long and hard.

"Great. And why are we having an election when there are the same number of candidates as seats?"

"To set a precedent for the future. And to make the whole thing more official, put the council in strong position, and give our daughter the best possible support."

"Great. So this is the best solution?"

She sighs deeply, then kisses him briskly on the lips. "Yes. I know. I'm not doing too well at using my head at the moment, am I?"

"You're doing alright." He reassures her gently. "I get it, you're worried about Madi. And it's only normal to be emotional while you're pregnant. Remember with Gus -"

"What did you just say?" It takes a moment for her brain to catch up with his words.

"When you were pregnant with Gus -"

"No. The other thing." She can't have heard him right. It is simply not possible.

"You're pregnant."

"But – I –" She trails off into stunned silence.

He gives an indulgent smile, and pulls her in for a slightly more lingering kiss. "Lost for words, huh?"

"How did you -?"

"You haven't had your period for more than two months." He points out, and she finds herself noticing rather suddenly that it's the truth. In her defence, it's been a rather hectic few weeks, and such things have not really made it to the top of her list of priorities. "I thought at first it might have been the stress of everything, but there are too many other things that add up. You might not have noticed your tits changing, but I certainly have. And you were more anxious just like this when you were expecting Gus, and – yeah – I'm pretty sure."

She swallows down her shock and tries to form a coherent sentence. "I can't believe I didn't notice."

"I always did know you too well." He teases with a grin. "Congratulations?"

"Yeah. Erm, you too, I guess?" She swallows once more, and tries to collect her thoughts. "Are you – is this OK? I know we were thinking we should wait before we tried for another baby."

"This is very much OK with me." He assures her, grin growing ever wider. "I know we've got a lot on our plate at the minute. But I know we can make this work."

"Of course we can." She agrees, confidence bolstered by his transparent joy. "You and me, together? We're unstoppable."

…...

Madi is tired, but she's not about to admit it. If she's going to be the leader of her people she will have to rise above such things. So it is that she pastes a careful smile onto her face as she leaves her lesson with Gaia and sets out on the short journey home.

Everyone waves at her, of course. That seems to be a thing that happens to her, these days. And she is careful to wave back at all these people whose names she has yet to learn, and based on the way they smile and look kindly at her that must be the right thing to do. She can't help but feel, though, that it might get a little lonely being the Commander. So many strangers want to greet her, but it feels like an age since she last had frivolous fun with a kid her own age.

She will have to put that right, she resolves, as she approaches the house she shares with her parents and brother. She will have to insist on joining the novitiates for training more often.

Everything appears normal, at first glance, when she opens the door. Bellamy shouts out a warm greeting, but doesn't turn his head from the book in his lap which he is reading to Gus. Clarke's voice floats from the direction of the kitchen, welcoming her home and asking her to leave her boots at the door if they're muddy. She kicks them off, too tired to give the task much care, and wanders over to her preferred chair.

She is about to collapse onto it when she freezes instead.

Her father looks absolutely _radiant_. There is simply no other word for it, for the beaming smile that tugs at his cheeks, the air of barely restrained excitement that animates his face as he reads to her little brother.

What on Earth has happened? Something good, obviously, but what it might be is a mystery to her.

Then Clarke walks back into the living room, and the mystery grows only deeper as she greets Bellamy with a really rather lengthy kiss and cuddles into his side, grinning from ear to ear.

Madi still stands, frozen, hovering like an idiot near that chair.

"Do you mind?" She interrupts, tone teasing, when she's getting a bit fed up of watching her parents' antics. It is at least better by quite some way than the cold awkwardness of their recent falling out, she supposes.

"We have news." Clarke announces. Yes. Madi hopes there is some pretty damn good _news_ , to justify all this joy.

"It's the best news." Bellamy adds, as if she might not have worked that out already.

"Yes?" She asks, trying not to sound too impatient.

There is a heartbeat of silence, in which her besotted parents hold eye contact as if having a wordless conversation, and Madi holds her breath and waits to find out what the hell is going on.

And then Gus shatters the quietness once and for all.

"Baby!" He declares, pointing excitedly at his mother. "Baby in Mummy's tummy!"

"That's right, baby boy." Clarke coos gently. "Mummy's having another baby."

Because of course she is. Madi is kicking herself internally, wondering how she could have missed such an obvious conclusion. In her defence, she's had quite a lot on, recently. Tiredness suddenly forgotten, she strides to the sofa and throws her arms around as much of her family as she can reach. She sort of ends up with one arm around Clarke's waist, and another around Bellamy's neck, and Gus gurgling cheerfully somewhere near her stomach, but it's good enough for her. It does the job.

"Congratulations!" She tells the whole lot of them, and she thinks that really she's telling herself as well. "A new addition to the greatest family on Earth."

Bellamy sniggers a little at that, a rather youthful sound that somehow matches perfectly the joyful mood of the evening. "The greatest family on Earth?"

"Shut up, Dad. It was a compliment."

Clarke snorts, and squeezes Madi ever tighter. "I hope the other two are more polite than you."

"No you don't." She fires back, grinning widely. "You love me just the way I am."

Bellamy chuckles. "It's true. Now get up and stop squishing your brother."

She does as he asks, but she doesn't much see the point. Gus isn't squished at all, and is having a perfectly fine time muttering the word _baby_ to himself over and over and over again.

…...

Miller is happy for Bellamy, obviously. His old friend is about to be a dad for the third time, and it's impossible not to be happy about that. And he's relieved for Octavia, of course, who was so fed up of leading and so ready to take a break. And he's definitely proud of Jackson, for being the one member of Wonkru that everyone from that damn bunker can agree is still fair and just and _good_.

But he's not very proud of himself, if he's being honest. There's not much to be proud of, between the way he propped up a madwoman's tyranny for five years, and the fact that he now finds himself rather unemployed as she gracefully retires.

He shakes his head, and refocuses on frowning at the ground. He's not sure why he's still quite so devoted to standing guard outside Octavia's house. There hasn't been so much as a whisper of discontent since the former Bloodreina announced her intention to step down. But he supposes that old habits are hard to break, and besides which, he has absolutely nothing else to do with his days.

He will have nothing else to do with his _life_ , once Madi takes over.

He sees Bellamy approaching and forces a smile onto his face. He is happy for his old friend, he is sure of it.

"Hey, man." He greets him with all the good cheer he can muster. "Here to see your sister?"

"I'm here to see you." Bellamy tells him.

"You are?" Do people go out of their way to see him, these days?

"Yeah. There's something I need to ask you about. Have you got a minute?"

"That depends. Can you ask me while I stand here?"

Bellamy chuckles a little at that, but Miller cannot see much grounds for laughter. "You're loyal, I'll give you that."

Well of course he is. There's not much else he's any good at.

He frowns slightly, and Bellamy seems to take that as his cue to continue. "I wanted to ask you if you'd help me run Madi's security team when she ascends. I'll be busy with council business some of the time and – well – you're you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He is beyond confused by this conversation. Bellamy cannot be serious, surely?

"You're Nathan Miller. You've been my right hand man for as long as I can remember, and you've managed to protect my sister for the last five years. I can't think of anyone else I'd trust more to look out for my daughter now." Bellamy shrugs as if this is the most obvious conclusion in the world.

"You mean that?"

"Of course."

"But – I -" He grinds to a halt, takes a deep breath and tries again. "You remember that first morning, after we opened the bunker?"

"Yes?" It is Bellamy's turn to sound confused, now.

"You wanted to see your sister, to call her out on killing all those people, I guess and I – I tried to stand in your way. I took her side, and supported her when she did unspeakable things, Bellamy. Why would you want me to protect your child now?"

"Because you hate yourself for doing all those things in the bunker. Because that's not really who you are. And because you deserve a chance to put it right. And I know that you're still the guy I worked with when we first landed on this planet, and no mistake you could make is ever going to convince me otherwise."

Miller rubs a hasty hand across his eyes, just in case there are any tears gathering there. Just on the off chance. And then he takes a deep breath, and squares his shoulders, and reaches out to shake his old friend's hand.

"Thanks, Bellamy. I won't let you down."

…...

John isn't quite sure how to go about processing the thoughts that come with the news of Clarke's pregnancy. He's surprised enough to find that he is unashamedly happy for them, and feels no temptation at all to take the piss out of the lovestruck expression gracing Bellamy's face. But the next development is even more of a surprise.

He finds himself wondering what it might be like, to be in that situation himself, one day.

OK, if he's being honest, he doesn't only _wonder_ what it might be like. He finds himself thinking with increasing seriousness that he might quite like to find out, sooner or later. That maybe a little girl with Emori's sweet smile and inner strength might be rather a lovely addition to their lives. That it might be quite special, to look out for a little boy the same way his dad watched over him.

And so it is that he finds himself, now, trying to decide quite what to do with all these new feelings. He knows he ought to tell Emori what he's thinking, but he's not quite sure how to go about doing that without making her suspect he's lost his mind. Or without making her decide that he's no longer the fearless survivor she fell in love with.

Of course, the obvious antidote to all this is to have a deep and meaningful conversation about their future family while they're both up to their armpits in boar's blood. So it is that, while they are skinning the day's catch together, he steels himself and makes a start.

"Good news about Bellamy and Clarke, huh?"

"What's going on, John?" She's frowning at him in a considering sort of a way. "You've said that three times a day at least since they told us."

"Yeah, yeah. I just – I'm happy for them, you know?" He swallows carefully and tugs manfully at a bit of boar skin.

"Me too." She does that sweet smile, and his stomach flips over.

"You know, Jackson was telling me that there's a lot of people looking to have kids at the moment besides them." He says with studied nonchalance, slashing determinedly at the ankles of his next victim. "Elayna's expecting too, did you know? And they've had loads of requests for contraceptive implant removals since we settled here."

Emori gives up on the skinning at that, dropping her knife with a clatter and sitting back on her heels. "What are you saying?"

He abandons the pretence, then. It's clearly not going to work for him, not if she keeps looking at him like that. He sets aside his own knife, and risks a little honesty.

"Do you ever wonder about having children one day?"

"Do you?" She counters, gaze narrowed with what looks like suspicion.

"That depends on whether you do." He tells her truthfully. "It's all I can think about, recently, but since you're looking at me like that I guess you don't like the idea. And that's OK, really, because I wouldn't want kids with anyone who wasn't you so I guess if you don't want to then -"

She cuts him off with a kiss, firm and heated, and with her bloodstained hands in his hair and her legs sprawled awkwardly across his lap.

"Yes." She tells him fervently, when she pulls away for air. "Of course I'd have kids with you, John. I know you'll make a great dad, even if you don't always seem to believe it yourself. But next time you want to ask me something important, can we maybe skip the hour of boar skinning?"

He laughs in relief at that, and kisses her again for good measure. "Whatever the hell you want, Emori."


	20. Chapter 20

Echo ought to be happy. She knows this because everyone around her seems to be glowing with joy and thoroughly relaxed. This is no surprise, she supposes. Madi's council have been elected without a hitch, and after the tension of recent months she can quite understand why this has caused such delight amongst her friends.

Just now, for instance, the whole lot of them are crowded round the Griffin-Blake family living room, toasting the safety and good health of the future Commander. Kane and Indra both look calm and collected, clearly more than comfortable with being elected to take back up the mantle of leadership. Even Clarke and Bellamy seem at least to be at peace with the situation, for all that they will not let their daughter out of their sight. And the last couple of members of the new council are perhaps less predictable – peacemaking Monty and belligerent Kara Cooper – but they will make for a balanced team and the general consensus seems to be that Shallow Valley is in good hands.

And it is not only those on the council who appear to have found a new sense of purpose, either. Miller is following Bellamy everywhere like a particularly devoted lieutenant, while Jackson is talking about running med bay while Abby takes some time out to recover from her addiction. Murphy seems to have been put in charge of food supplies, and Harper is helping Gaia to train the cadets. And Raven, of course, is spending ever more time in her workshop with Emori, fixing things that Echo hasn't a hope in hell of understanding.

She's not jealous of her friends. Of course she isn't. She's happy for them, because she's a _reformed_ spy these days, and being happy for her friends is what she does now. It's just that there isn't a whole lot of use for a spy in peacetime – even a reformed one.

She supposes she must have some skills that could be useful. She could go shoot things to eat for dinner, or teach a self-defence class, but having _skills_ is not quite the same as having a _purpose_ , it turns out.

Emori grins at her from across the room, and she makes a valiant effort to return it. This is not the moment, she decides, for prolonged introspection. This is the moment for throwing back moonshine and laughing out loud.

Monty passes her a glass, and she makes a game attempt to do just that. Raven, of course, is not fooled.

"What's wrong?" She asks, under her breath, lips thrillingly close to Echo's ear.

"Nothing."

"You know, I'm pretty sure that's what everyone says when the answer is _something_."

Echo dares to look up and meet her eyes, and smiles a little in spite of herself at the warmth in Raven's gaze.

"You might be right."

"I usually am." Raven reaches a gentle arm round Echo's shoulders, and Echo tries very hard to remember how to breathe. "So, you going to talk to me about it?"

She shakes her head. They do seem to be talking about things a lot more, recently, but it's still not exactly something that comes naturally to either of them.

"OK, then." Raven continues despite her silence, voice lacking its usual bite. "So I guess I'll have to work it out. You're at a party to celebrate peace, surrounded by a bunch of people who are really happy with their new jobs. But you still think of yourself a spy, and spies aren't known for being useful in peacetime."

"You – what?" Echo chokes out, wondering how on Earth Raven has got even that far. She's pretty certain that no one has ever stuck around long enough to get to know her this well in her entire life before.

"Good, so I'm along the right lines then. You know that's a heap of crap, don't you?"

" _What_?"

"It's a heap of crap. You're not a _spy._ You haven't been a spy for years, not since we got into space. You're a thousand other things, sure. A great teacher of Trig and self-defence. An awesome team mate for games night. A loyal friend. A hell of a good kisser, even. But not a spy."

Echo supposes she ought to scoop her jaw up off the floor, but she's not entirely sure she's capable of doing so, at this moment in time. "You really mean all that?"

"I really mean it. Every single word."

"Even – even the bit about kissing?"

There is a heavy silence, and Echo curses herself for ruining this whole _talking about things_ idea with her pathetic, needy over-excitement. She ought to have learnt by now not to push Raven, ought to have noticed that forcing the issue only ever results in heavy silences.

Just when she thinks that she has ruined this evening once and for all, Raven speaks up. "Even the bit about kissing. _Definitely_ the bit about kissing. I just – I don't know. I'm not ready. I'm sorry. I can't -"

"Hey, hey. I'm sorry for making a big deal out of it." She leans into Raven's warmth, noticing that for all the awkwardness of the moment she has not withdrawn the arm that still lies draped across her shoulders. "Forget I ever asked."

"No. I don't want to forget you ever asked." Raven visibly gathers her courage, takes a deep breath. "I just need some more time. I'm sorry. But when I'm ready, you'll be the first to know."

…...

Madi is pleasantly surprised when she walks into Ethan on leaving her lesson with Gaia. What with her lessons and the meetings of the new council, not to mention making plans for her upcoming ascension, she has not seen him in days.

"What are you doing here?" She hopes that she sounds more curious than affronted.

"Looking for you." He tells her, as if it is the most natural thing in the world. "Your dad said you'd be here. Want to go swim or something?"

She pauses on the doorstep, and wonders if there is any good way to explain to her friend that she doesn't have time to _swim or something_ , these days. That being the future Commander is not exactly a barrel of laughs, and that her to-do list is currently longer than the sword that rests at her hip.

"I'm sorry, I can't." She opts for straightforward honesty in the end. "I really don't have time. I have to grab some supper and then get to the council meeting. And I told Auntie O I'd stop by, too, but I don't think that's going to happen because it's already -"

"Hey, Madi. It's OK. Breathe." Ethan offers her an encouraging smile, and reaches out a hand towards her shoulder as if calming an anxious animal.

She laughs at herself a little. "Thanks. Sorry. I'm still getting used to having to be everywhere at once. And I'm not even doing that much, the council runs pretty much everything."

"It's still a lot to do when you're just a kid."

"My parents were only kids when they started running things."

"That's so not true. Your dad was in his twenties and your mum was almost eighteen."

"But the way my mum tells the story, he was much more immature." They both have a good giggle at that, and Madi feels some of the tension easing from her shoulders.

"Come on." Ethan gives her an awkward little pat on the arm and then starts walking towards the heart of the village.

"Where are you going? I thought you were going swimming?"

"It'd be no fun swimming without you. I already spent the whole afternoon with Damien at training, I don't need to hang out with him _again_."

"I'll tell him you said that."

"No you won't." Ethan throws a confident grin in her direction. "So we're going to get you some supper, and then I'm going to walk to your council meeting with you."

Madi stares at him, shocked, for fully three seconds before she succeeds at getting her thoughts into some kind of order.

"Thanks, Ethan. That's – that's kind of you. But you don't have to."

"I want to. I figure walking to a meeting with you has got to be better than not seeing you at all."

"I'm sorry." She says, feeling rather guilty that she has been neglecting the precious few friends she has. "I should come to training with you guys again soon. It's been too long."

"It has. But that's OK. We'll see you when you've got time."

"Thank you."

"No need to thank me." He tells her, suddenly quieter than usual. "It's what friends are for."

…...

Bellamy is not enjoying watching his daughter lie unconscious on her bed. Gaia warned them that this might happen, that it could take quite some time to come round after taking the flame, but somehow he still feels wrong-footed. Madi had that chip placed in her head a solid seven minutes ago and she's still absolutely motionless.

"Should it be taking this long?" Clarke gives voice to the question he is thinking.

"There's no cause for concern." Gaia says, which is sort of an answer to the question, yet sort of _not_ , he can't help but feel.

"The crowd will be getting restless." He frets, wondering whose ridiculous idea it was to have the massed ranks of Wonkru standing outside the house waiting for the new Commander to be presented to them.

Oh, yes. That's right. It was his.

In his defence, it made a lot of sense at the time. A simple yet effective way to mark the clear handover of power, and an opportunity for Madi to recite the lineage as she apparently must. But now all he can think is that there are eight hundred impatient soldiers outside waving their swords around, while his little girl lies here helpless and fragile.

It's not only the soldiers growing restless, as it happens. Beyond the three of them actually in here with Madi, the entire council are in the living room, along with Miller, waiting to escort the new Commander onto the front steps when the time comes. And Harper is playing in the corridor with a rather noisy Gus, and all in all the atmosphere is far from calm.

Madi blinks into wakefulness at last, and her choice of first words surprises them all. "What's with all the noise?"

"Not sure if you've noticed, kid, but you're kind of a big deal now." Bellamy tells her with an effortful grin. His comment has the desired effect, and even Clarke gives a reluctant chuckle.

"How are you feeling, Heda?" Gaia asks softly.

"I'm feeling ready." Madi says, tone decisive, as she levers herself into a sitting position. "Let's go."

"Now? Already?" Clarke is already half way to frantic, it appears, and Bellamy reaches out a calming hand to rub her shoulder. "Are you out of your mind?"

"I'm ready, Mum. I promise. I've been training my whole life for this, even if we only realised it two months ago. It's time to go."

With that, she pulls her mother into a hug and then strides out into the corridor. And Bellamy sits awestruck for just a moment, wondering quite who this intimidating young woman is and what she's done with his little girl, before he gathers his wits and stands to follow, dragging Clarke by the hand as he goes.

"It's time." Madi announces to the living room at large, and then seven of the most brilliant people he knows fall in line behind his adolescent daughter as if they would follow her to the ends of the Earth.

To be fair, she's always had that effect on people. He's pretty sure the flame has only enhanced what was there already.

They gather Harper, too, and Gus ends up perched at Bellamy's hip as they make their way to the door, with Clarke's hand still firmly entwined in his own. She's shaking a little, he can feel it, and he's not sure whether it's the pregnancy making her emotional or her horror of the flame causing her anxiety. Either way, he knows he will stand by her and help her to manage it.

They emerge onto the steps of their home to deafening applause. This is surely no surprise. But it is, perhaps, a surprise that the crowd falls silent instantly when Madi raises her hand. And then she recites the lineage, voice carrying in the still air.

He doesn't mean to find himself moved, but it happens all the same. There are her friends, the Wonkru novitiates, jostling for position and trying to get a better view. There is an elderly lady – a rarity amongst the former grounder clans – blowing kisses, and there is a man twice Bellamy's size with battle scars lining his cheeks who discretely brushes away a tear.

There is, in short, a whole village rallying together around his daughter.

…...

Happiness takes Harper by surprise. Sure, it has been a good few weeks, with peace looking increasingly like it is here to stay, and with Madi and the council taking the reins. Monty is loving life, speaking up in favour of non-confrontational solutions to every problem, and spending the rest of his time working on a way to use algae as fertiliser. And Harper finds herself ever more committed to her own role training the novitiates - she has something of a gift, it turns out, for communicating with young people and bringing out the best in them. But all the same, she is surprised to wake up the morning after Madi's ascension and find that her first thought is of her joy at being alive, rather than her disappointment at not being pregnant.

She has a good morning with the kids, taking them into the forest for a bit of work on their survival skills. Within a couple of hours, they have all manged to set fire to a bit of kindling, and no one has managed to set fire to the forest at large, so she's counting that as a win.

After that, she moves on to lunch with her friends. They are making a habit of this, recently, and Harper is pretty convinced that Echo is the driving force behind it. They are all of them so busy with their new roles that it does them good to get together to take a break and share food and company.

She wanders into the kitchen of the cottage that Echo and Raven share, and finds that she is the last to arrive.

"Hey." She greets the assembled crowd. "How are we all?"

"You'd know we're all well if you'd got here on time." Raven chastises her cheerfully. "Even Clarke beat you, and she's the Queen Mother or something now."

"The Queen Mother?" Emori asks, absolutely baffled to judge by her tone.

"It's an old Earth thing." Raven clarifies. "Not important. It means her kid is a big deal."

"Bellamy would be disappointed in you." Clarke reprimands her. "Everything about Earth culture is important, that's what he'd -"

"I'm great, thanks for asking." Harper cuts in with a grin before Clarke can turn their entire meal into an hour of talking about Bellamy. It's great that she loves him and all, but other topics of conversation are also available. "How about you, Echo?"

"Not bad. Kane asked me to run some training sessions for the guard, I'm not sure whether it's because he needs someone to train the guard or whether he was asking out of pity."

"He was asking because you'd be brilliant at it." Raven informs her briskly, with a squeeze of the hand that Harper suspects the rest of them are supposed to pretend they have not seen.

"You would." Harper agrees. "And how's the baby, Clarke?"

"Do you mean the toddler we already have or the baby in here?" Clarke gestures at her stomach. "Both good. Gus is following his dad around for the day, and this little one seems healthy so far."

"That's great news."

"Yeah." There is a pause, in which Clarke bites her lip before continuing in a strangely soft tone. "What about – Harper – have you – you know, any news?"

She knows what she is asking, of course, and on autopilot she trots out her usual answer.

"No, not yet. It'll happen when it happens. But in the mean time I'm enjoying -"

She breaks off, all of a sudden, while her brain catches up with her tongue. Because actually, now she comes to think of it, she thinks that there might be news. She's been so caught up in the joy of those around her, and in her own happiness at being – well – _happy_ , that she hasn't paused to dwell on her unfulfilled wish of getting pregnant for quite some weeks. But it occurs to her very suddenly that, in fact, she cannot remember when she last had her period. Was it about the time Octavia announced her resignation, perhaps? In which case, she cannot help but hope that there might well be _news_.

"Harper?" Emori nudges her gently with a shoulder. "You OK?"

"I'm OK. I'm more than OK." She confirms.

"I'm sorry for asking." Clarke says, sounding rather sheepish and not much like she has ever lead the human race.

"Don't be. Don't be sorry. Thank you for asking. I think – I think I should go to med bay. I think I need to take a pregnancy test."

Shocked silence ensues. Of course it does. And it is, naturally, Clarke who breaks it.

"I'll come with you. Jackson might be busy and I guess you don't want to be kept waiting."

With that, the pair of them leave the cottage, lunch utterly forgotten in the excitement of running this particular errand. They make their way across the village with more speed than dignity, and Clarke thrusts open the door of med bay, then sets about turning the place upside down in a hurried search for the pregnancy test.

The minutes that pass between taking the test and learning the result are the longest minutes of Harper's life. To her credit, Clarke does not try to distract her with inappropriately trivial chatter. She simply sits with her in silent solidarity and reminds her occasionally to breathe.

It is stupid to be so nervous about this. Harper knows that. Only this morning she was beginning to accept that she might never have a child, and she was happy nonetheless. Yet now that she has started to hope, she finds that she is really not at all ready to let go of this particular dream. If nothing comes of the frenzied excitement of the last ten minutes, she knows she will be absolutely devastated.

She asks Clarke to look first, to tell her the result as sensitively as she can manage. And then she stares at the floor, and grits her teeth, and prepares to be disappointed.

"You're pregnant." Clarke announces, and for a moment Harper is convinced that she must have misheard. "Really, look. You're having a baby. I'm telling you, there must be something in the water round here. I wonder how long it will be until Emori's expecting."

With that, at last, she believes. And, really, there is only one thing to be done in this unexpectedly wonderful situation. She lets her head fall to her knees and starts weeping long-overdue tears of happiness.


	21. Chapter 21

It takes Bellamy a good few weeks, but eventually he stops worrying about every person he loves, every second of every day. Clarke's pregnancy is progressing smoothly, and since her anger over the situation with Madi has abated they have, somehow, only grown closer than ever. Madi finds her feet as the new Commander readily enough, and he only has to remind her about four times before she starts to understand that, really, she doesn't have to do _everything_ herself. She makes it a priority, now, to spend the morning in lessons with her friends before attending council meetings in the afternoons. And he makes it a priority to insist that evenings are for family time, because he's pretty sure that both of the excessively hard-working women in his life need someone to remind them to take some time out.

Octavia is doing better, too. In a rather unexpected development she's started helping out with a bit of farming, and is much more relaxed now that she has put her past as a tyrant behind her. He resents this somewhat because as a result his own daughter has been deprived of much of her childhood, but he's making his peace with it little by little, day by day.

So it is that, this morning, while Madi is training with her friends and Clarke is catching up with Spacekru, he goes to see Octavia as she tends to a plot of cabbages. There is something almost comedic, he thinks, about seeing a former warrior tilling dirt instead of gutting enemies, but he's too tired of trouble to quite let loose a laugh.

"Big brother." She greets him with a warm smile. "How are you doing?"

That question catches him by surprise. He's been so busy worrying about everyone else, since Madi's ascension – or, rather, since her ascending was first suggested – that he hasn't really stopped to take stock of his own situation.

"I'm OK. Miller's on duty for today, so it's good to have a break."

"And you decided to spend your day off on chores?"

He frowns, confused. "What do you mean, chores?"

"I know you love me, brother, but you have to admit that you're here out of duty. This isn't where you'd choose to be this morning." That strikes him as a bit of an odd topic of conversation, really. Duty has trumped choice for most of his life, with the exception of those five precious years he spent here alone with Clarke.

He misses that time. He misses it so much it hurts. And having a new baby on the way is great, of course, but he can't help but resent the fact that this child will be born amongst people and therefore the potential for conflict, rather than into the blissful peace they enjoyed with Gus.

"Bellamy?" His sister prompts gently, and he wonders what he missed. "Where would you rather be?"

"Nowhere." He tells her, and it is almost the truth. "You're right, at least partly. But doing my duty is part of who I am, and I wouldn't be me if I sat at home and read a book. And I'll get to do that with Clarke and the kids tonight anyway."

"Make sure you do." Octavia's voice is surprisingly firm. "I appreciate the concern, Bell, really I do, and it's great to see you. But I want you to get to live your own life." She's tearing up, now, as she continues. "That's all I've ever wanted for you, all my life, because you had to give up so much for me as a kid. And I know you found that with Clarke while we were all in the bunker, and I just want you to get that back."

"That's what I want for you, too." He mutters, holding his emotions carefully behind a clenched jaw. "But I really do like to see you, as well. Those years with Clarke were great but – I missed you."

She nods a couple of times, fiercely. "Can we maybe give up on these duty visits and try living our lives, instead, then? I'd like to get to know you as – as a friend, rather than just as a big brother. I want to laugh at your toddler falling over his feet, and watch your daughter grow into the incredible young woman she's obviously going to be. I don't want to sit here making awkward conversation over damn cabbages."

He stares at her, slightly taken aback, for a long moment, and then he laughs out loud. "Three days from now is family Lion King afternoon. You should be there. I promise Gus will fall over and there'll be no cabbages."

He turns away, then, and goes home in search of a good book.

…...

Clarke likes eating lunch with her Spacekru friends. This fact comes as a surprise, somehow, looking back on the mixed feelings with which she greeted their return to Earth. Sure, she loves them, and she was beyond glad to see them land safely, but she distinctly remembers feeling rather flustered and frustrated by the sudden appearance of _people_ in their quiet lives. But gradually, over the last few months, she has found a balance. She still enjoys that same quiet life in the evenings with Bellamy and the children, and she makes the most of the cheerful company when Raven and Echo invite her over to spend an hour or two.

These lunches have only become more cheerful, of course, since the confirmation of Harper's pregnancy, and the upcoming addition to Clarke and Bellamy's family, and the increasingly relaxed and _domestic_ atmosphere between Echo and Raven. With a wry smile, Clarke wonders whether maybe the two of them might even admit to being in love, one day. Vastly different though the personalities involved may be, the way they are so obviously an item yet so ostensibly single reminds Clarke of the situation between herself and Bellamy, back before Praimfaiya.

She is the first to arrive, after the hosts themselves, and she spends a pleasant three minutes trying not to laugh at how blatantly she is third-wheeling as the two of them pass dishes across the kitchen wordlessly and steal silly smiles at each other when they think she is not looking.

Harper is on time, because she is Harper, and Clarke asks after the baby while they wait for Emori.

Emori is not on time. Ten minutes later, they are still waiting. And then ten minutes grows into fifteen, and fifteen stretches out to twenty, and still there is no sign of the last of their company.

"We should start." Raven says with a shrug.

"We shouldn't." Harper argues back. "Do you think she's OK? I could go look for her."

"She's Emori." Echo snorts. "She's definitely OK. That woman is _always_ OK, she can survive anything."

Clarke isn't so sure about that and is on the point of agreeing with Harper, when at last Emori bursts through the door.

"Sorry. Something came up." She pants, looking rather more happy than stressed despite her tardy arrival.

Raven fixes her with a stare, but says nothing, and Echo gestures to them to start helping themselves to food. So it is that Clarke heaps her plate high – she is eating for two, after all – and tucks in. It's not quite cheese and inexplicable carrot pasta, but she has to admit that it's pretty great all the same.

"Did everyone have a good morning?" She asks.

"I shot half a flock of geese, that was pretty satisfying." Echo tries to give a modest shrug, but the grin on her face rather ruins the effect.

"I taught your daughter how to shoot." Harper offers. "And when I say I taught your daughter how to shoot, I mean your daughter taught me how to shoot, and the rest of her class while she was at it." Clarke laughs at that, suspecting that Harper has her work cut out with Madi.

"John has this theory that we should get married." Emori announces, quite without warning, destroying rather thoroughly Clarke's expectations of the direction their conversation might take.

"He does?" Raven asks, looking utterly confused.

"He does." Emori confirms, as if it was not a confusing statement at all.

"Why?" Raven seems completely unable to fathom this.

"Because he loves me." Emori gives a shrug. "And because everyone's getting pregnant and he wants to have kids and stuff. He wants to make some grand gesture because he's feeling a bit left behind."

"How romantic." Echo comments, cynical as ever.

"Do people get married any more?" Clarke asks. Obviously she's only asking because her friend has exciting news, not because the idea has ever crossed her mind for herself and Bellamy. No, they're in love, and they have a family, and she has absolutely never found herself wondering what it might be like to get married, one day.

"John reckons we could start a trend." Emori tells them. "He said he might ask Kane to do it – he remembered that Kane's mum led a load of religious stuff on the Ark."

"That sounds like a great idea. You could bring it back into fashion." To be clear, Clarke's enthusiasm for the idea is _entirely_ on Emori's behalf. She's a level-headed and rational woman, not some romantic about to swoon over the idea about a few silly words said in public.

Raven scoffs, loudly. "Great. I look forward to sitting back and watching _all_ of you get married."

Clarke is pretty sure that Raven herself is the only person round the table who misses the longing look Echo shoots at her then.

…...

Raven is happier today than she can remember being in years. In fact, given the whole crappy-childhood-thing, she thinks she might be the happiest she's ever been. Sure, she's not exactly looking forward to sitting around and watching six of her favourite people marry each other – because she's pretty sure that's what will happen the moment _getting married_ becomes a thing that people do again – but she thinks that she might at least be feeling confident enough in her relationship with Echo, these days, to dance with her at the wedding.

So, of course, today is the day that yet another thing goes wrong.

They are still sitting at the lunch table, laughing over baked apples, when Miller bursts in.

"There's a ship." He announces.

"A ship?" Clarke leaps to her feet.

"A space ship." He clarifies, as if there is any chance of an old-fashioned sea ship in the middle of this forest. "Says _prisoner transport on it_. Heda called a council meeting, she's fetching as many of the other councillors as she can find and bringing them here."

"I'll get out of your way." Echo murmurs, drawing herself gracefully to her feet.

"Yeah, me too." Harper echoes, even as Emori stands as well.

"No." Clarke stops them with a raised hand. "You should stay. I know you're not on the council but – we might need your advice. This sounds serious."

Echo sits back down, and as she does so, Raven feels a strong sense of foreboding steal over her. This is beginning to sound like the kind of situation where a spy might find herself needed.

Within moments, Bellamy is ushering Madi through the door, Gus perched on his shoulders, Kane and Cooper on their heels. Monty is out foraging, Harper explains apologetically, and Clarke reminds them that Indra is leading a hunting party, and so it is that Madi declares the meeting begun.

"We need to act fast." The twelve-year-old declares, chillingly calm. "We need to know what we're dealing with. A prisoner transport ship, you said, Miller?"

"Yeah. Branded _Eligius_."

"They're a corporation that was big on Earth before the bombs." Raven feels this information might be useful. "Tech, mining, petrochemical industries – you name it, they did it."

"Could they be dangerous?" Clarke asks, ever to the point.

"The unknown is _always_ dangerous." Madi tells her mother, eyes narrowed. "The Commanders want me to send out a team to learn what's going on and report back."

Raven shudders, that fear growing ever stronger.

"That sounds sensible." Clarke agrees, and Bellamy and Cooper nod approvingly.

"Well, then." Madi looks up, fixes Echo with a pointed look. "No prizes for guessing who's leading that team."

Raven reaches out to clasp Echo's hand, but is briskly shaken off again. Apparently Azgeda spies do not indulge in small gestures of affection in the face of a mission.

"Of course, Heda." Echo nods, that grounder upbringing plain in her obedience now. "Whatever you need. Who's coming with me?"

"Whoever you choose. If there's anyone here qualified to pick a team of spies and lead them out into the unknown, it's you."

"OK. Let's get going." Echo is on her feet, already assembling her gear. "Bellamy, you know the terrain. You'll join me?"

He nods, squeezing Clarke's shoulder and placing Gus into her lap as he gets to his feet.

"Great." Echo continues. "We'll take Tarik and Karina, too. Let's go."

She is half way to the door before Raven gathers her thoughts, and that's saying something. Thinking has always been what she does best, she likes to tell herself. But on this occasion, she does not manage to convince herself to say goodbye until it is almost too late. She jumps to her feet, follows Echo as quickly as her bad leg will permit, and pulls her into a firm hug.

"Be safe." She whispers, lips almost brushing Echo's neck. "You'd better come home in one piece."

"I will." Echo's hand cradles Raven's head to her chest, fingers tangling in her hair. "I'll be home soon, I promise."

With that, she is gone, striding to the door, turning on the threshold to hurry Bellamy along as he says a touching goodbye to Clarke and the children.

And now, Raven realises with a long sigh, the waiting must begin.


	22. Chapter 22

It's not that Raven hovers like a concerned girlfriend next to the radio for the rest of the day. No, she hovers like an _engineer_ , just doing her duty to her people by being ready to operate the radio and waiting for Echo and her team to check in with news about these newcomers and their Eligius-branded ship.

Clarke doesn't hover like a concerned girlfriend, either. She goes to great lengths to make that clear. She is in Raven's workshop as a council member, ready to carry any message back to the Commander the moment it comes in.

Raven snorts, without humour. She knows full well that neither of them is convincing anyone.

"Aren't they due to check in?" Clarke ceases her pacing just long enough to ask, and Raven spares a moment to be impressed that she's pacing with a three-year-old strapped to her back. "Shouldn't we have heard from them by now?"

"They're fine." Raven insists, as much to reassure herself as for Clarke's benefit.

They lapse into uncomfortable silence, in which Raven tortures herself by wondering if, maybe, they're _not_ fine. What will she do, if something happens to Echo? If she loses her now, without ever quite admitting what she feels for her, without ever quite embracing their chance at happiness?

Thankfully, the radio interrupts her burgeoning panic.

"This is Echo, checking in." Her much-missed voice fills the workshop. "We're all well. Bellamy's fine, he insisted I should tell you to tell Clarke that before I make my report."

Raven lets out a relieved laugh as she reaches for the handset. "Thank God, Echo. I was – I was starting to worry about you."

"None of that, now." She chides gently. "I promised you I'd come home, and I'll be back soon. Can I give that report now?"

"Sure."

"OK. So they've got forty-three people, mostly men. All between twenties and fifties in age, to judge from looking at them. A range of weapons, from handguns through rifles to some big things we've never seen before and we think might be some kind of artillery. And they don't seem to have a clue what they're doing. They're blundering around the forest near their landing site like – well, like Skaikru used to when you first landed."

"Great." Clarke breaks in, snatches the handset before Raven gets a chance to reply. "They don't know Earth. We can use that. You did good, Echo."

"Thanks." Echo sounds a bit stunned at such overt praise from the woman formerly known to her as Wanheda, Raven thinks. She smiles a little at the thought that, perhaps, these two people she cares so much about might have a go at being proper friends in the future, not just held together by their mutual acquaintances.

"Is Bellamy there?" Raven stifles a laugh against her hand. Even in the midst of a crisis, it seems that Clarke's priorities are the same as ever.

There is a brief crackling noise on the radio, and then his voice speaks up. "Clarke. I'm fine, stop fussing."

Clarke somehow manages to simultaneously sigh with relief and roll her eyes, Raven notes. "I'm not _fussing_. I'm trying to speak to my fellow _council member_. Echo gave us their numbers and weapons, but I want your take on what we should do now."

"I thought strategy was your thing?"

"I thought shooting was yours." She throws back at him, without much bite.

"I don't think we should shoot them." Bellamy says thoughtfully. "We'd probably win, depending on what those canon-things are. But I'm fed up of shooting people, aren't you?"

"Yeah." She agrees, and Raven cannot help but feel the same way.

"We think there might be more of them somewhere as well. This is labelled as a transport ship, which begs the question, where are the rest of them?"

"So we need a way to negotiate for peace from a position of strength." Clarke fills in what they are all thinking. "I'll go consult with the rest of the council. You guys should head home. Safe journey."

"See you soon." Bellamy confirms.

"Say goodbye to your dad, Gus." Clarke adds, as something of an afterthought, even as she is already turning towards the door.

The toddler on her back chortles happily, and apparently Bellamy hears something coherent in his words as he responds in turn. But Gus is destined never to hear him, it seems, as Clarke is already handing the radio back to Raven and striding out of the door.

"They're terrible." Echo's voice catches Raven by surprise. She rather thought that the conversation was over, now that their leaders have exchanged instructions, but it seems that her favourite person has other ideas.

"Yes." She agrees. "Do you think we'll ever be as bad as that?"

There is a loaded silence, then Echo speaks up once more. "I don't know. We might manage it, if we practise."

"Yeah. Maybe." Raven agrees with surprising ease. "Come home safe."

"Will do. See you soon."

With that, she sets down the radio, and dashes out the door to see how she can help with this peace treaty.

…...

Clarke is proud that Madi is brimming with confidence. Of course she is. But it scares her a little, too – both the fact that it means her little girl is growing up, but more pressingly the fact that it throws her in harm's way.

"I'll negotiate with them." Madi states, bold as brass, in the hastily assembled council gathering.

"Y-you?" Clarke stammers slightly. "You think I'm going to let my twelve-year-old daughter negotiate with armed strangers?"

"I'm technically the leader of Wonkru. The deal will hold more weight if I'm leading negotiations."

"She's right about that." Cooper offers, and Clarke is sorely tempted to hit her.

"It's also a strategic move." Madi continues. "They'll be surprised to have someone so young calling the shots. It will increase their fear of the unknown, make it easier for us to appear strong and back them into a corner."

Clarke gapes a little, and notes that it is the kind of trick she might have thought up, when she was eighteen. "Did you think of that yourself? Or is it that damn chip in your brain?"

"Clarke. The chip is _part_ of my brain. I know you don't like it, but that's how it is." Madi sighs. "I don't want to worry you. But this is going to work. The Commanders tell me so."

Clarke wants to storm out of here. And then maybe to wander into the forest until she intercepts Bellamy on his journey home, and bury her face in his chest, and never resurface. But she can't do that, because she is needed here. Her daughter may be the Commander, but she's still partly in charge.

"They've got weapons, Madi." She tries, one last time, to talk her out of being the one who goes out there.

"So have we." Her daughter shoots straight back at her. "And I have a plan, remember? We're going to need a lot of those guns that have lasers. And I'm going to need a bunch of people who can shoot straight and are at home in the forest."

…...

This is ridiculous. Bellamy is convinced of it. They're taking orders from his daughter, who hardly even knows what a sniper rifle _is_ , but has still somehow thought up a strategy that depends on a dozen of the things. He has to admit, it's a good strategy, but that doesn't do much to lessen his discomfort.

He's worried about Clarke, too. She's substantially pregnant but still threatening to follow them into the trees. He knows that she's only saying that out of concern, just doesn't like to think of two people she loves going out into danger without her, but he needs her to understand that it is, in fact, ridiculous.

"You're not going." He reiterates, shaking his head at her firmly.

"I don't take orders from you." She bristles, lacing her boots and sticking a slightly puny handgun into her waistband.

"I know." He reaches out for her, places a gentle hand on her cheek. Slides the other hand, as subtly as possible, to retrieve that handgun and discard it on the nearby table. Because, as he's mentioned, _she's not going_ , so she has no need of a weapon.

"So you can't stop me going."

"You're right. I can't order you not to go. But I can _ask_ you, Clarke. I know it's going to be difficult for you to sit at home while we do this, but imagine how much more difficult it's going to be for a pregnant woman to jog silently through the forest. And imagine how much danger you'll be putting our daughter in, if I'm trying to protect _both_ of you at once so I can't do a proper job of looking out for her."

She is silent for a long moment, staring at the floor, refusing to meet his eye. And then she speaks, and she nearly breaks his resolve.

"I can't just stay here, Bellamy. I cannot sit calmly at home and look like a good pregnant housewife while the people I love put themselves in danger."

He wraps her in his arms, presses a kiss to the crown of her head. They don't really have time for it, but no way can he leave her like this.

"We'll be OK, Clarke. You trust me, right?"

"More than anyone." She confirms.

"Then trust me, now. Trust that I'll do everything I can to protect Madi."

"And to protect yourself?"

"I'll come home to you." He confirms, hoping that it is a promise he can keep. "I will. And then you can get back on with being in the thick of things, pregnant or not."

With one last, lingering kiss, he picks up his rifle and heads out the door.

…...

Madi isn't trembling. To suggest that she is trembling would be inaccurate and _unfair_. She's just giving the occasional shiver, which is only natural because it's chilly out here. She's certainly not feeling any excess of fear at her first taste of real commanding.

She marches straight out of the trees and into the clearing.

"I need to speak to whoever is in charge." She announces to the stunned assortment of those newcomers from the sky.

An idiot with a beard and a partially shaved head shakes a gun in her general direction. She supposes that she ought to reserve judgement on his idiocy until she's actually heard him _speak_ , but based on the way he's waving that rifle she thinks it's not an unfounded assumption.

"Allow me to repeat that." She says, tone carefully bored. "I need to speak to whoever is in charge." She raises her hand in the signal she agreed earlier and immediately all the soldiers are fixed with those pleasing green lasers.

"What?" Shaved-head-guy really is an idiot, it seems.

"I have snipers in the trees who could shoot all of your men before you can blink." She makes it quite clear that she is speaking directly to chief idiot as she continues. "In fact, I suspect that the sniper currently trained on your heart is my father, who I'm afraid is both a little over-protective and a very good shot."

There is a pause. That laser is still fixed on his chest, and her stare is still fixed on his face, and Madi is rather proud at the job team Griffin-Blake are doing here, really. She's feeling pretty confident that her new favourite idiot will break in the next ten seconds.

She's on seven when he puts his hands in the air.

"Let's go." He admits defeat, and starts to lead the way through the trees.

It is not a long journey, and she takes heart from the steady chorus of birdsong that follows her along the way. The Eligius men just think that there is a lot of wildlife in these parts – one large guy that she's thinking of christening deputy-chief-idiot even comments on it. No one suspects that this is her army's way of reassuring her that they are right by her side, hidden in the trees.

Within minutes, they arrive at the edge of the clearing where the Eligius ship is parked. Obviously, Madi cannot leave the cover of the trees, because that would mean leaving the cover of her snipers. She therefore digs her heels in and says that she will wait here.

Chief idiot doesn't even bother arguing, this time. He just strides off in the direction of the transport with the rest of his men at his back.

She is kept waiting just long enough for the first butterflies of nervousness to start fluttering in her stomach before she sees a rather stern-faced woman approaching.

"Colonel Charmaine Diyoza." She introduces herself, voice cold. "McCreary says you want to speak to me."

Madi nods, carefully courteous, before introducing herself in turn. "Heda Madi kom Louwoda Kliron Kru, heir to Becca Praimheda, successor to Lexa kom Trikru." The woman looks at least a little intimidated by her titles, as she intended she should. "Daughter of Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake." She adds as an afterthought, because if this woman knows the first thing about planet Earth she ought to find that pretty intimidating too.

"Why are you here?"

"I am the leader of my people and I have come to negotiate the terms of your surrender."

Diyoza laughs in her face, a loud, unkind sound. "You're a child."

"Yes. A child with a hundred and three years of leadership advice and battle strategy on a chip in my brain." She informs her with an affected shrug. "Also with a tribe of eight hundred people who would follow me to the death. Mostly highly trained warriors, but also engineers, farmers, and doctors. If you agree to my terms you and your people will flourish." She doesn't bother outlining the alternative, because she doubts this woman is that stupid. There must be a reason that chief idiot – McCreary, she corrects herself – recognises her authority.

She is frowning at her now, a shrewd look in her eyes. "What are your terms?"

"Your people abide by our laws and respect my leadership. In return, they are welcomed wholeheartedly into our community, with access to our doctors, fair sharing of our food supplies, all that kind of thing. My head of agriculture is currently working on fertilising the wasteland so within the next couple of years we should be able to expand beyond this valley. We would hold elections so that a couple of your people join my board of advisers." She adds this last comment in a rather light tone, as if offering the woman a treat. She has to make it quite clear, after all, who holds the balance of power in this relationship.

Diyoza makes one last attempt to worm her way out of this. "How do I know you're not bluffing?"

Madi doesn't even have to raise a hand, this time. Diyoza has scarcely finished asking the question before she is fixed with a dozen green lasers and the indisputable evidence that Madi is, in fact, telling the truth.

Diyoza pauses for a moment, looks down at her own laser-flecked torso, then up into Madi's eyes. She turns to frown at the treeline, too, but of course she sees nothing. Bellamy's better than that, Madi thinks with a grin. And then, at long last, Diyoza turns back to her with a resigned sigh.

"I suppose you have this treaty already written up."

Madi nods, once, coldly. It's a move that Lexa has taught her, and this seems like the moment to try it out.

It works. Any last drop of confidence leeches out of Diyoza, and she speaks her next words with cynical humour. "Well, then. I guess I'd better go get a pen."

"No need." Madi swings her pack off her shoulder, pulls out a single sheet of paper and one slightly chewed pen. She supposes that a peace treaty usually involves a little more ceremony, but it seems to her that it is only fitting that they should seal this deal using a pen chewed by Gus Griffin-Blake when he was teething.

What happens next surprises her – she doesn't mind admitting it. One moment she's looking at Diyoza's bitter frown, and the next, she's seeing her face transform as she lets out a loud and genuine laugh.

"You're good." Diyoza says, when she can speak again. "Really good. I think we're going to get on well, Madi kom – Madi kom whatever it was."

Madi's not quite sure what to make of that, whether that is a genuine hand of friendship or a strategy that the Commanders haven't understood yet. She therefore hands over the treaty, and stands firm while she waits for Diyoza to sign.

"Do you not want witnesses?" Diyoza asks with a frown. "People to make sure I keep my word?"

"I have witnesses." Madi tells her. "You just can't see them."

Diyoza nods at that, and puts pen to paper at last. "I've only known you four minutes, Madi, but I can already say that doesn't surprise me."

Now that, Madi thinks victoriously as she reclaims her precious paperwork, is how it's done. Peace through the appearance of strength, and not a drop of blood spilled.


	23. Chapter 23

Clarke is generally slow to trust, and she thinks that's pretty understandable, given her life story. But she finds herself trusting the terrorist who leads these Eligius prisoners with surprising ease. And it's not because of the obvious respect in Diyoza's eyes every time she interacts with Madi, or not _entirely_ so. It's because, logically speaking, there is no good reason _not_ to trust Diyoza.

Sure, the woman has a history. But which of them here, in this valley, does not? Their peace has been hard won, and they have all seen more than their fair share of bloodshed. Clarke knows that she would be the biggest hypocrite in the world if she mistrusted this newcomer just because of her body count. Even more compelling as an argument to trust Diyoza are their circumstances – she seems bright enough to understand that starting a war with people who know Earth and who are comfortably in control of the one patch of green land on the planet would be foolish beyond belief.

So it is that Clarke welcomes Diyoza onto the council with almost literal open arms. Anyone who is that impressed with Madi clearly has good taste, and is a friend in her book. And Clarke has even deadlier friends, anyway, so if her newest chum gets out of line she figures she can just have Echo assassinate her easily enough.

Feeling strangely buoyant, Clarke shares this idea with Diyoza a week after they move the Eligius prisoners into the valley.

Diyoza lets out a throaty laugh and grins at Madi. "Don't you worry, Clarke. Thanks for the warning, but I'm not planning to cause trouble. I know when I'm outclassed. And I'm tired."

Clarke can understand that. She can understand being tired of fighting, can understand being tired of death and destruction and guilt. But then Clarke sees Diyoza's gaze flickering over the slight bump of her belly, and she wonders if there might be something else going on here as well.

"I'm tired, too." She offers, resting a hand on her stomach with no attempt at subtlety.

Diyoza narrows her eyes at her, and Clarke becomes increasingly convinced that her hunch was right. They sit there without speaking for a couple of moments, as the other members of the council enter and start taking seats around them, and the two of them stare each other down even while Bellamy wanders over and drops a gentle kiss on Clarke's forehead.

And the Diyoza breaks her silence.

"You can't call yours Hope." She says, fixing the pair of them with an expression somewhere between a smile and a grimace. "That's already taken."

"That's a good name." Clarke offers mildly.

And then the meeting is starting, and the subject is dropped.

"I think we should have a peace party." Madi begins, and even Indra softens a little at the suggestion from this Commander who is still sometimes so childlike in her enthusiasm.

"A peace party?" Monty prompts her, leaning forward in his chair.

"Yeah. We should share food and get to know the Eligius people and you adults can all drink too much moonshine."

Kara Cooper turns to Monty with raised brows. "We'd better get brewing, then."

Bellamy leans back in his chair, grinning widely, and even after all these years Clarke finds that she is unable to keep the smile off her face at the sight of him so relaxed and happy. She finds that it does her good, really, to see _all_ of her friends and family at peace with the world, as even Kane looks rather less worn out than he has done since leaving the bunker.

"That sounds like a lovely idea." She tells Madi, trying not to cry from sheer happiness. It's been a long time coming, but she cannot think of a village more deserving of a peace party.

…...

Echo has been looking forward to the peace party since the moment it was announced. This is partly because it is a _peace party_ , and she has grown rather more fond of peace since she first scorned Monty and his peacemaking ways on the Ring all those years ago. She's been swayed by the opinions of her Spacekru friends, since then, and has been influenced in particular by the idea that it might be a bit easier to work on having a bright future with Raven if people aren't threatening their lives all the damn time.

But mostly she's looking forward to it because it is a party, and because she seems to remember that people dance at parties, and drink at parties, and she reckons that the combination of those two things could lead to a little making out if the circumstances are right. And things have been going so well between her and Raven recently, the two of them growing more relaxed and Raven being almost _affectionate_ when Echo was about to set off on that mission the other day, so she reckons that this is as good an opportunity as ever to make an attempt at suggesting that the two of them might go to this party _together_.

So that's what she's working on, now. She's lurking behind a storage shed and trying to work up the courage to stride into Raven's workshop and ask if they might, perhaps, have a go at going to this party as an actual couple. She could have asked her this morning, of course, as their hands brushed across the breakfast table, or last night as they sat much too close on the sofa for much too long, but somehow she couldn't quite work up the courage. It turns out that the type of bravery needed to conduct a spy mission in hostile territory and the type of courage needed to admit she's fallen in love are substantially different.

She takes two steps forward, then falters again. She's nearly at the workshop, now, can just about hear Raven's voice drifting through the window. She can do this, she knows she can. And she's pretty confident that Raven will say yes, based on the way things have been going lately. All she needs to do is manage those last few paces and -

She hears another voice and recoils in horror. Because there is another person inside that workshop, and by that she doesn't mean Emori. No, she can hear that engineer who came down with the Eligius prisoners, that Shaw guy with the smarmy smile and the clever chat about _thrusters_ and the completely unnecessary way that he's always invading Raven's personal space.

Echo didn't think Raven liked it. She was absolutely convinced that she hated it, in fact. So what on Earth is Shaw doing inside the workshop, now?

She hovers, out of sight, listening closely. Apparently some habits from her spy years are not so easily broken.

"Are you looking forward to the peace party?" Shaw asks, and Echo rather wants to vomit.

"Yeah." Raven says, voice warm with excitement. "It should be great. Monty's cooking up some moonshine, and Murphy's working on a playlist. He reckons we need something we can actually dance to, not those old tunes Clarke and Bellamy are so obsessed with."

"Sounds good." Shaw says, and Echo can just imagine his damn smug grin. "So listen, Raven. I was thinking a girl like you should have someone to dance with. What do you say we go to this party together?"

The silence that follows is the longest of Echo's life, although she knows it lasts scarcely a second.

"Thanks for the invitation."

Echo doesn't stay to hear any more. She doesn't need to. She turns and flees back to the house, and wonders why in the name of sanity she ever thought it was a good idea to share a house with that cold-hearted _snob_. There can be no avoiding her, she realises. She will simply have to grin and bear it, and survive watching the woman she's spent six years slowly falling for dance in the arms of a man she's known for barely six days.

…...

Echo doesn't stop by the workshop for lunch, and Raven's a bit worried about that, really. Sharing lunch is something that started occurring a few weeks ago – or maybe it's a few months, by now. Either way, it's a thing they do, usually, even though it's not something they've ever really bothered discussing. It is just what happens.

Only it doesn't happen today, and that sours Raven's mood. She was hoping that they might have a chance to chat over their rations, maybe share their excitement about tonight's party. They discussed it a lot last night, of course, but she's pretty sure there is still more to be said on the subject. She doesn't think she will ever get tired of wondering out loud what will happen at this first party they are to attend together.

Of course, they haven't actually declared that they are going _together_ , or at least not out loud. But Raven's certain that it is happening all the same. She's pretty sure there is no other way of interpreting a conversation about slow dancing between two people curled up on a sofa together who once drunkenly made out a little. And they've been gradually working on a bit of openness, these last few months, and she's rather hopeful that, under the influence of moonlight and moonshine, they might have a go at some more making out. So, yeah, she thinks she's right to be confident that they're going together, and that's why she turned down Shaw without so much as a twinge of regret when he invited her to be his date earlier.

She almost laughs at the thought. Why did he even bother? She's pretty sure that every remaining member of the human race knows she's spoken for.

So, yeah, she misses Echo at lunch time, and it makes her distinctly grumpy, but she does her best to keep her chin up. She leaves the workshop rather a lot earlier than usual, and heads back to the house. She figures it might be fun to get ready together, to check out each other's outfits even if they are working with limited wardrobes. And maybe Raven can tell the story of Shaw trying to ask her out, and they can giggle at it a little, and it might be the hint that Echo has been waiting for that finally, at long last, they are on the same page.

She gets home to a deserted house, which surprises her. She didn't think Echo was scheduled for patrol today, but her bow is gone, as is her quiver and her pack, so apparently she has gone out somewhere.

Growing still grumpier, she sinks onto the sofa and wonders what to do now. What kind of person disappears on a non-existent patrol when they could be at home chatting to their date about their upcoming plans? Has Raven perhaps managed to misread the situation horribly, and are they maybe _not_ going on a date after all?

No. That's absurd. Everyone knows they're basically an item. They've been sharing a house since they got here, for goodness' sake, and no pair of platonic friends she's ever seen are quite as physical as the two of them have been, of late.

She forces herself to calm down a little, and goes to choose an outfit for something to do. It's a task that shouldn't take very long, for a level-headed engineer who only owns four sets of clothes, but on this occasion she somehow manages to spend entire _hours_ on endlessly changing her mind and faffing with her hair and being, somehow, perpetually dissatisfied.

She just needs Echo to come home. The house is always calmer, somehow, when Echo is inside it.

Time passes, and Raven hears the music strike up outside and the atmosphere begin to get lively, yet Echo is still not back from wherever on Earth she's gone and Raven finds herself torn between concern and anger. She doesn't want to believe that she's been stood up, but the alternative is that the woman she's in love with is currently being mauled by bears, or something, and that is certainly even worse.

She is on the point of running into the middle of the party to alert Clarke to the need to send out a rescue mission when the door bursts open and Echo strides into the room, kicking her boots off with unwarranted force.

"Raven?" She freezes, balancing on one leg, even as her second boot flies towards the heap of footwear by the door.

"Echo." She's not sure whether to pull her into a relieved hug or ask what the hell she thinks she's doing, coming home so late. "Where were you?"

"Out." Echo offers, as if that is a valid answer. And she's frowning hard, taking in Raven's outfit as if she doesn't like it one bit, and Raven feels the bottom fall out of her world. She knew it was stupid to spend so much time dressing up for this. As if someone as strong as Echo, who has spent half her life in the field, would set any store by a hairstyle. Suddenly self-conscious, Raven scrunches at her hair and wonders whether Echo is judging her for putting so much effort into something so petty.

At last, Raven can bear it no longer. "What is it?" She asks. "What's wrong?"

"You look nice." Echo offers, turning her head away suddenly. "You – err – you look really good."

Raven breathes a sigh of relief and steps a little nearer, although she still doesn't quite dare to go for a hug. "Thanks. Are we going now or do you want to change?"

"Change?" Echo seems puzzled by the idea, and Raven kicks herself for suggesting it. Probably it sounded rude, she frets.

"What you're wearing is fine. You look great. We can get going if you want."

Echo is still frowning, but now she's frowning down at her own feet. "I – I don't feel well. I think I'm just going to stay here." Raven feels her heart sink at that, but tells herself that it's a silly reaction. She has a lifetime ahead of her to dance with Echo, she hopes, as long as she doesn't screw up too badly in the meantime.

"If you don't feel well, why did you spend the afternoon running around the forest?" She chides with a gentleness that surprises even herself as she walks over and places a hand softly on Echo's arm. "Come on, sit down. Let me get you some water."

"No!" Echo insists with, Raven feels, unwarranted force. "No. You don't need to do anything. Honestly, I'm fine, you should just go enjoy your evening."

It is Raven's turn to feel confused, now. "How could I enjoy my evening while you're sitting here feeling like crap?"

"Don't worry about me. Really. Go have fun with Shaw." With that, suddenly, all of the puzzle pieces fall into place.

"Shaw?"

"Shaw." Echo confirms, still avoiding eye contact as she allows herself to be led to the sofa.

Raven sinks into a seat at her side and tries not to laugh. She has a feeling that laughing will not help, just now, however ridiculous the situation may be. She pulls Echo into a fierce hug instead, and wonders where to begin.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" She decides to start there, arms still wrapped tight around Echo, head resting on her shoulder. "You call yourself a _spy_? Yet you failed to notice what everyone else in this entire village has noticed? That there's no way I would go to this party with anyone other than you?"

Echo stops breathing at that. Raven can feel her freeze in shock. "You – I – _what_?"

"I'm going with you. If you'll have me, that is."

"I think I've been pretty clear on that point." Echo mutters, beginning to relax and take in oxygen once again.

Raven laughs. "Yeah. I'm – I'm sorry it took me so long to catch up with you, Echo. But – I think I'm ready now."

"Ready?" Echo queries, daring to look up and meet her eyes.

Raven sees the eagerness in her gaze and decides that, probably, this has gone on quite long enough. If she keeps questioning her best chance at happiness, she figures she's going to lose it just like she has lost so many chances before.

She therefore gathers her courage, and kisses Echo full on the lips. And there is a moment, one horrific moment, when Echo freezes and she wonders whether, perhaps, she has just ruined everything.

And then she starts kissing her back, tentatively at first, then with a flattering enthusiasm that has warmth pooling in the pit of her stomach. And suddenly Raven's world is shrinking to a pair of soft lips against hers, to the firm insistence with which Echo kisses. Somehow Raven always knew she would be like that – firm insistence is how she does most things, after all. And then Raven is tangling her fingers in Echo's hair and trying not to dig her nails into her scalp, but it's difficult because she needs more of her, closer, all at once, and before she can think better of it she's leaning back onto the sofa and pulling Echo down with her.

They break apart then, breathless and giggling, Echo hovering above her and shifting her weight in an effort to avoid crushing her bad leg.

"Stop fussing and kiss me." Raven recommends.

Echo has always been good at following orders, of course, so she does not disappoint. And it's wonderful, really it is, feeling her reassuring weight pressing her into the sofa and having the chance to explore the curves of her bum and the strength of her shoulders and everything in between, but as Echo reaches for her waistband Raven cannot help but remember that there is a reason why she is dressed like this.

"No." She whispers, pulling away from her lips slightly.

Echo freezes in horror, snatches her hands away, and bolts to her feet. "Sorry." She mutters, looking absolutely frantic. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to – I thought – I -"

Raven sits up and reaches out for Echo's hand. "That's not what I meant. I didn't mean I don't want to try that. I meant – I meant _not yet._ You see, I'm all dressed up for a party and my date only just got home so we're running late and I think we ought to get going."

Echo offers her a tentative smile. "Sure you don't just want to stay home and take this to the bedroom?"

"Tempting." Raven concedes, standing up to press a brief kiss to her lips. "But I really do want to go to this party. I want to slow dance with you, and kiss you in front of our friends until they're bored of us being like that in public, and show the whole village that we finally got our act together."

She can see Echo's eyes grow wide at that, a contented grin gracing those distractingly kissable lips.

"Sounds like a plan." She agrees, and they walk out the door hand in hand.

…...

Bellamy is nervous for reasons that go far beyond the perils of balancing a wriggling three-year-old on his shoulders – although, if he's being honest, the way that Gus is attempting to scramble free is not exactly helping the anxiety simmering in the pit of his stomach.

He rearranges his grip on his son's ankles and looks around him. The party is in full swing, with all the lively dancing and carefree drinking he might expect of such an occasion, and it is good to see all his friends and family so relaxed and happy. Miller and Jackson are having some sort of dance-off on one corner of the dance floor, while Raven and Echo hold each other with undisguised joy a little way away. Harper cannot stop grinning, and Monty is evidently fussing over her, and the whole scene looks really rather festive.

But Bellamy is nervous, because he has a question to ask Clarke. He has had a question to ask her since at least the moment John and Emori announced their engagement, he thinks, but possibly even since she first warned him not to open that dropship door. And it's an important question, and a frightening one, and a question that he thinks he is supposed to ask at some romantic moment such as a peace party.

OK, he never quite planned to ask it with a toddler balancing on his shoulders. But it seems that he can't afford to be choosy, just now, as the night is drawing on and he's still not had a moment alone with her to get the words out.

The music starts to grow slower, and he realises that this is probably Murphy's way of warning them that the party is winding down. He needs to corner Clarke, now, or he will not have the chance to ask her tonight. He sets out across the floor to where she stands chatting to her mother, ignoring Gus as he gurgles in some confusion as to why there is suddenly so much _bouncing_. He arrives at his destination, and asks in a voice that only shakes a little whether he can speak to Clarke.

Abby looks surprised. That's a pretty understandable reaction, he supposes – nervously asking to speak to the woman he's been living with for the last five and a half years is maybe a bit unusual.

"What's wrong?" Clarke asks when her mother is out of earshot. She looks alarmed, and it makes him pause for a moment and take stock of the situation. He didn't mean to scare her, but he supposes that he might look a bit of a nervous wreck just now.

"Nothing's wrong." He tries to sound reassuring. "I just wanted to talk about something."

"So talk." She offers him a gentle smile, and he swallows down his anxiety. It seems that he is indeed going to find himself asking this question with an excited toddler squirming around on his shoulders.

"Yeah. OK." He swallows again, with difficulty. "I'm sorry, I guess this isn't the most romantic location. And I was wondering about arranging a dinner with you or whatever, but we never seem to have the time. And there are the kids as well – anyway. I don't want you to think that I'm only asking this because of John and Emori, because really it's something I've been wondering about for years, but I wasn't sure if getting married was a thing anyone did any more. So – yeah – I really would have asked you before them and -"

"Yes." She cuts off his senseless babbling not a moment too soon.

"Yes?" He wonders whether she is agreeing with the concept, or actually agreeing to his mangled proposal.

"Yes." She nods firmly, reaches up to press a firm kiss to his lips. "We should get married. That is what you were trying to ask, isn't it?"

"Definitely." He rushes to reassure her, feeling rather more confident now that she seems to be on board with the idea. "Clarke, will you marry me?"

She buries her face in his chest at that, and Gus takes advantage of the opportunity to kick her affectionately with his energetic little toes.

"Yes." She murmurs, squeezing him tight around the waist for good measure. "Of course I will, Bellamy. What was there to get so nervous about?"

"I wanted to do it right." He tries to explain, feeling suddenly foolish. "I didn't want you to think I was only asking because our friends are doing it, and I've been trying to find a good moment all evening but I wasn't sure when to do it."

She pulls back just far enough to kiss him once more. "It doesn't matter how you ask me, Bellamy. You know I'm not going to be sentimental about a thing like that. All that matters to me is that we're getting married."

Yes. That is a sentiment he can definitely agree with.

He wants to celebrate this moment, wants to fix it in his memory forever. He suspects that this is about as good as evenings get, with the beautiful woman his world revolves around telling him that marrying him is _all that matters_ to her. And he's got his adorable son on his shoulders, playing cheerfully with his hair, and he's got his wonderfully talented daughter dancing about the place with her friends and family, and, yes, he reckons that life does not get better than this.

Only then, of course, Madi barrels into him with the force of a small dropship crashing to Earth, and knocks the air out of his lungs as he staggers sideways and clutches desperately at his Gus' ankles to keep him safely in place. And Clarke laughs at him, of course, because she's always been impossibly comfortable making light of his minor misfortunes, and then Madi is laughing, and then they are all laughing and hugging. And Madi is still embracing that adolescent rebellion phase, telling him that it was _a crap marriage proposal, Dad_ , and earning herself a reproving glare from Clarke for her language, and then, at last he gets it.

This is it. This very moment. Life really doesn't get better than _this_.


	24. Chapter 24

Clarke is still Clarke, so she doesn't become _completely_ hysterical at the prospect of marrying Bellamy. She likes to think that she takes a relatively pragmatic approach to the upcoming celebration, choosing the neatest of the clothes she already owns and pointing out that there's not much need to make a guest list when the whole village will be able to crane their necks for a view of the open-air ceremony.

Emori does not think Clarke is taking a pragmatic approach, though. This much is obvious.

"Admit it, Clarke. You're a romantic at heart. You never would have agreed to a _double wedding_ otherwise." Emori teases, as they stand side-by-side and gut fish.

"A double wedding makes practical sense." She insists, waving a knife to emphasise her point. "We only need to get together enough food for one feast, and we only take everyone away from their duties for one day."

"You're not fooling me. You agreed to get married alongside me and John because you're so _moved_ that he's turned out to be one of the good guys."

"I agreed to get married alongside you and John because Bellamy insisted on it." Clarke corrects her sharply.

"And the fact that you'd do anything for your future husband supports my claim that you're secretly a romantic, don't you think?"

Clarke doesn't have an answer for that, and she hates not having an answer for anything. She therefore huffs a sigh and gets back on with gutting fish.

"That salmon do something to you, did it?" Emori asks, tone cynical.

"I don't know what you mean."

"No need to be angry with a fish just because I'm right." Emori tells her, with an affectionate bump of her shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with becoming a sappy romantic, Clarke. You're still Clarke. You're still the most badass woman I know."

Clarke feels herself softening at that and cracks a smile. "Right back at you."

Emori grins, but the effect is rather ruined by the fish scales that have somehow found their way onto the tip of her nose. "I can't think of anyone else I'd rather get married alongside."

…...

Bellamy is an expert in the art of waiting for Clarke. He waited for her all those years ago in Becca's lab, and watched the world burn, and prayed she would make it back to him, and really he reckons that ought to have been a more stressful experience than this. He waited months, too, to tell her how he really felt about her, patiently anticipating the moment when she might learn to speak from the heart, and at least this time he _knows_ that she loves him.

But yeah, for the record, waiting for her to show up and marry him is pretty damn stressful all the same.

There are a lot of people here, which doesn't help. Eight hundred, in fact, give or take the first couple of babies born beyond the bunker. And they're all watching him and Murphy, and he's finding that a bit much.

Well, they're all watching except Gus. The toddler is climbing resolutely onto Monty's shoulders, seemingly oblivious to Harper's insistence that this is not quite the time or the place for such nonsense. Bellamy throws a grin towards where they sit in the front row, and Harper is virtually glowing with joy in response. It will be their turn, soon, to have a little one of their own, and he cannot help but think that another wedding might not be so far off, either.

"You nervous?" Bellamy asks Murphy, trying to keep his tone light. He needs to say something or he will expire right here on the spot.

"Me? Nervous?" There is a strained and rather _un-Murphy-like_ laugh. "I don't do nervous."

Bellamy snorts.

"There's nothing to be nervous about though, is there?" Murphy continues. "They love us. They'll be here any minute."

"I know." Bellamy agrees. "But I'm nervous all the same. This just seems too good to be true. I know we've been together for years, and I trust Clarke with my life but – she runs away when things get too much for her."

Now it is Murphy's turn to snort. "Trust me, Bellamy, her days of running away from you are definitely behind her."

Bellamy hums in agreement, but he does not have time to form actual words because he can see her now, still some distance off, yet he can already tell she looks radiant. It is different from that other time he waited for her, he muses. She is not trying to outstrip death this time, and there is no snow giving way to steam as the apocalypse bites at her heels.

No, she is forcing herself to take her time. He can see it in the way she trips over her own feet a little as she resists the urge to pull away from her mother's arm. He likes that. He likes it a lot – the idea that she's so keen to marry him that she's struggling to remember not to break into a run.

He supposes he ought to be thinking sappy thoughts, at this point. Something about wanting to _freeze this moment,_ perhaps, or something about how she will never look lovelier than she does now. But neither of those things are true, not in the slightest. He doesn't want to freeze this moment, but is eager to get on with spending the rest of his life with this woman. And she will always look lovely to him – he hopes to live to enjoy the privilege of telling her so when they are old and frail and still, resolutely, together.

At last, Clarke and Emori arrive, and he spares a moment to smile at Raven over Clarke's shoulder. The Maid of Honour is playing her part well, of course, but he has to admit that she's been slightly outshone by the Commander herself acting as flower girl. Raven doesn't seem to mind taking second place, though, as she steps back and takes Echo's hand, and the two of them share a look which promises that they will stand before the altar, one day.

Kane starts speaking, but Bellamy isn't listening. He remembers helping Kane choose some new words that might be suitable for this new world they are building, recalls their conversations about how to renovate the old Ark service to suit this age of Grounders. But he has better things to do, in this moment, like stare at Clarke and her very pregnant belly and wonder what on Earth he did to get so lucky. After all, he sure as hell didn't do anything on the Ark to earn this moment.

One phrase, though, he does hear loud and clear.

"You may kiss the bride."

Yeah. That's not an invitation he's ever going to ignore.

…...

John is still John, now, but he is Murphy no longer. Names are a difficult thing to get right – he's absolutely fed up of Bellamy and Clarke arguing about whether _Agrippa_ is a suitable name to call their much-anticipated baby – but he is confident that, on this occasion, he and Emori have made the right choice.

He has to admit that _John and Emori kom Liwouda Kliron Kru_ is not snappy, but it is accurate. It is perfect, in fact, as a name for two people who spent so many years feeling that they belonged nowhere, only to find that this valley could be their true home. So he is glad to ditch _Murphy_ at long last, or at least to reshape him into something new.

The ceremony is over and the paperwork signed with their new names. The party is getting started, with Monty doling out the alcohol while Raven and Echo get the dancing started, and Kane proves surprisingly keen on embracing the festive spirit. Even Octavia has let her hair down – quite literally, so that it shields her face from curious onlookers. But at least she's here, and John knows that it must mean the world to Bellamy to have his little sister taking part in this biggest of days.

He juggles three beakers of moonshine, and goes in search of his wife and their friends.

"I don't care about the history, Bellamy, we are not calling this kid _Agrippa_. She would get teased." Clarke takes up the familiar theme.

"It's a boy's name." Bellamy corrects her, apparently affronted.

"No. No way is that a boy's name." Clarke shakes her head. "No way is it _anyone's_ name. Move on."

"Camilla?" He suggests, while Emori looks on and shakes her head in despair.

"Better." Clarke acknowledges. "Keep trying."

"Achilles?" John contributes, fully aware that he is fuelling a very dangerous fire. In his defence, he reckons even good guys are allowed to tease a little.

"That's a bit of a mouthful." Bellamy shakes his head. "What would we call him for short?"

"And _Agrippa_ isn't a mouthful?" Clarke asks, incredulous.

"Julia." Bellamy counters, rather than responding to the question.

There is a heartbeat of silence, and then Clarke breaks into a smile. "OK. Julia. We could actually put that on the list of maybes."

It is, John supposes, the happiest list these two have ever had cause to write, between them.

"Great." He breaks in. "That's that decided. Now we party?"

"Now we party." Emori confirms, gulping down half a cup of moonshine.

"I take it you're not expecting, then?" Clarke asks, brow quirked.

"No." Emori confirms. "Or not yet, at least."

"You're thinking about it?" Bellamy asks as he turns to John with visible enthusiasm. "Ready to take the plunge and be a dad now you're a married man and all?"

"Maybe." He concedes, trying very hard not to sound too excited about the idea.

"Never thought I'd see the day." Clarke shakes her head, grinning a broad grin she has evidently learnt from Bellamy over the years.

"What can I say?" John throws back his moonshine and steels his courage. It is time, he reckons, to get in a bit more practice at being a _good guy_. "I've realised something, since we first landed all those years ago. Life should be about more than just surviving."


End file.
